


Nature/Nurture

by ViolentMedic



Series: A Few Murders More (Canon Divergent Murderer AU) [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: All Explicit Sex Scenes Are Dubious Consent Due To The Nature of Non-Deviant Androids, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Inconsistent Burn From A Broken Oven, Intrusive Memories Distorting Someone's Perception Of Reality, Is It Slow Burn? Maybe?, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Flashbacks to Rape/Non-Con, Pre-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Rape/Non-Con Is Canon Compliant, Revoked Consent And Some Sexual Assault In Chapter 18 That Gets Stopped Pretty Quickly, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Warnings Attached To Specific Chapters For The Sex, forced drugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-07-10 11:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 185,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentMedic/pseuds/ViolentMedic
Summary: Detective Gavin Reed has an unconventional hobby. That of strapping criminals who wiggle out of their comeuppance to a slab and torturing them for hours before tossing their dismembered bodies into a river somewhere.The new coroner for the DPD, Connor, an RK800 with slight programming flaws, thinks this is an efficient and direct way to reduce crime and wants in.A partnership occurs. Things get complicated.





	1. The Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> Oops guess who tripped into another AU. This one’s largely canon-based but with the two additions of Connor and Gavin’s changed circumstances that’ll spiral into other changes later on.
> 
> This ‘volume’ of the series is already roughed out and is currently going through edits, but has been concluded in rough form through my live writing over in the New Era Discord’s Zlatko-Suspended section. So you can at least not fear a sudden stop for this part. It just has to be divided up or I'd have to tag characters that don't appear for 100k.
> 
> As vaguely specified in the tags, although canon-compliant rape and sexual abuse is alluded to later on and shown in glimpses through memories--this is a Detroit fanfiction, after all, we all know what the Eden Club androids went through--I’ve tried to keep flashbacks to such as non-graphic and tasteful as possible. There are graphic sex scenes of a dubious nature, but more because of the questionable sentience that’s a problem with non-deviant androids in general.
> 
> New ERA Discord can be found here: https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm The rough version of this fic can be found by searching MedicMurderPartnersAU in the two zlatko sections, if one doesn't want to wait, but it'll be largely refined when it goes up here.

Gavin was torn. Though not as literally as the motherfucker lying on the floor was about to be.

On one hand, he hated when they took too long to wake up once he got them in place. Whether sedatives or a good crack over the head, he always had to pacify them somehow to get them on the slab to begin with. But sometimes that meant waiting for hours for them to wake up, so that he could really get down to business. It was the worst when he’d accidentally OD’ed them or given them irreversible brain trauma, and had to just finish the job with no fun in between. That didn’t scratch the itch, satisfy the urges. Meant finding someone else, meant more risk and less sleep.

On the other hand, he also hated when they woke up early. Though waking up feet from the slab at least left him the chance to fix it easy. Let him get a bullet in them so they couldn’t run.

Gavin crouched by the guy rolling around on the floor, screaming bloody murder and clutching his leg. He had a gun in one hand, but rather than shoot again he turned it around and smacked the man in the nose with the handle. It wasn’t much of a blow--the gun he used for his hobby was smaller and more compact than the standard issue handguns of the DPD--but it was enough to cut off the screams with a yelp.

“Would you shut up? I haven’t even started the good shit.” Gavin wiped the palm of his hand against the splatter that was coating his favourite jacket. “Oh, you asshole, you could have waited until I had this off.”

Alright, so maybe that was Gavin’s fault. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn his favourite leather jacket while engaging in his messiest hobby.

Gavin wrinkled his nose as the guy ignored him, instead continuing to scream and sob and generally be a big baby about the whole thing.

Felt better to blame him, though.

Gavin slipped the gun back in his belt before he grasped the guy under his arms and dragged him towards the slab.

“You really should just save it, no-one’s going to hear you.”

Gavin tried to lift the guy up onto the slab, despite his insistence on squirming around. He was a skinny, pasty prick, and the smack to the nose had left him dazed enough to not coordinate his struggle, so it was only a mild inconvenience. Once Gavin had him on the slab, he gave the man what could have been a friendly slap on the shoulder in other circumstances.

“Was that so fucking hard?”

“The hell is wrong with you?!” the man screamed at him.

“Well, I mean, that’s a question for the ages. There’s theories. Guesses. I could talk about the google results but, really, is it important? It’s not gonna make you any more alive by the end of this.”

Gavin pulled down one of his legs in an attempt to strap it down, and the man continued to struggle. Gavin glared at him, one hand pushing down on the calf. The other hand gave a quick jab into the bullet wound by his knee, and got another high-pitched scream.

“Behave or I’m gonna poke you again.”

The squirming didn’t stop, but it lessened, and the screaming dulled into wheezy, quick and watery breaths.

Gavin was working on the third out of five straps--one around each limb and one around the torso--when the man started the bargaining stage of the five stages of grief.

“Let me go, man… I won’t tell anyone. I… I can pay you, I can--”

Gavin continued with the fourth strap, ignoring the begging for now. The guy rambled on about secrets and money, and just started to repeat himself after a while. Gavin had found that, while the order varied and occasionally the victims skipped a step, that bargaining was a near-guarantee. They always offered whatever they had and got frustrated--or just plain shat themselves--once they realised Gavin didn’t want any of it.

Denial, fear, anger, bargaining. No-one ever lasted long enough to get to ‘acceptance.’

Once the fifth strap was secure and the guy was pinned down real good, Gavin wandered to the corner of the basement before grabbing the office chair he had in the corner, left near the desk where he did his embroidery, or flicked through books while waiting for his victims to wake up. He sat down on it backwards, before wheeling himself over next to the struggling man. Arms crossed on the backrest as he stared him down.

“Alright. I’m listening. Make your case.”

“I told you, I can pay you, I can--”

“No, I heard you, idiot. I mean tell me why you deserve to be let go.”

The man’s sobs quieted for a moment before he hoarsely said, “What?”

“You did it well enough in court, didn’t you? Convince me.”

There was short, wheezy breaths as the man processed this before he whispered, “Didn’t do anything. Innocent.”

“Yeah?” With that, Gavin retrieved a lighter from his pocket along with a cigarette. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and flicked the lighter open, holding it near the man for a few moments before pulling it back to light the cigarette. “Those three buildings burned themselves down, did they?”

“Those were my buildings!”

“Oh, sure. Insured pretty well,” Gavin said, words jumbled through the cigarette in his mouth. He took a puff of the cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air before continuing. “Way more than you were getting for the rent. Nice little payday, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything! I’m innocent!”

“You have a good lawyer, there’s a big difference.” Gavin took another puff, but this time he leaned over the man and blew the smoke into his face. “Though it doesn’t make much difference to the family you fried in the process.”

The man coughed through the smoke, though his eyes averted at the same time.

“So? You gonna justify that?”

“I didn’t--”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking--”

“I didn’t do anything, I’m innocent, I’m--”

The begging was cut off when Gavin grasped the man’s chin, shoving the cigarette forward so it was just an inch from his eye.

“Don’t fucking mock me with that bullshit!” Gavin snarled.

The man shut his eyes tightly as the tiniest bits of ash floated down, dusting his eyelid.

“Open your eyes or I burn right through the lid, asshole! Open them!”

“They were meant to be out of the house!” the man yelled, still keeping his eyes shut. “It wasn’t meant to be like that! I didn’t know! For fuck's sake, man, it was an accident!”

Gavin pulled the cigarette an inch back. “Oh, well. That just fixes everything, doesn’t it?”

“Man, it was an accident, I don’t… please, you can have the money, I just… please--”

“Oh my god, again with that? Man, I don’t care about money, you think I’ve got a problem with money? You think I could afford a basement like this if I was worried about money?”

Okay, admittedly, this whole house had been more of a present than anything he’d bought. But Mr. Family Bake-Off didn’t have to know about that.

Gavin stuck the cigarette back into his mouth, folding his arms again over the backrest once more.

“Here’s the newsflash, since you’re just not getting it. I don’t give a shit about money. I don’t give a shit about what the courts said, because quite frankly anyone with half a brain can see that they got it wrong. If the best you can give me is ‘it was an accident,’ all I can do is call you a fucking bitch for not manning up and taking credit.”

No-one had yet managed to convince Gavin. He wondered what he’d do if they ever did.

He stood up, kicking the chair away, before stubbing the cigarette out on the man’s cheek, just inches from the eye he’d been threatening. There was a high-pitched squeak of pain amidst the heavy, wet breaths as Gavin wandered over to one of the cabinets.

The basement was lined with kitchen cabinets and counters on one side, and the counters had neat stacks of his usual implements. Knives, scalpels, needles, tools designed for bludgeoning, cutting, poking, drilling, whatever he’d decided fit the victim. But sometimes he required a little something special, something he didn’t usually have any use for, and that meant delving into the cabinets themselves.

“I could have burned your eyes out. But where’s the fun in that?” Gavin said, talking over his shoulder as he rifled around in the cabinet.

Eventually he pulled out a few bits and pieces, including a saw hooked to an electronic box of some kind. To be honest, Gavin didn’t know how it worked.

“You ever see one of those knives where it cuts the toast as it slices? Well, turns out that they don’t work very well. Uneven job, such bullshit. I mean, we can invent walking, talking plastic but we can’t get a knife that evenly cuts and cooks toast?”

The saw was old. A pasted-together piece of tech that Elijah had made based on a Youtube video when Gavin had complained about the toaster taking too long. Like, really, Elijah could revolutionize the world with humanoid supercomputers but the best he could do for toast was copying a Youtube video he’d seen? Alright, he’d been like thirteen at the time and it was amazing this still even turned on after over twenty years. Even so...

At least the saw had its uses. He’d have to tell Elijah about this one. He’d probably find it hilarious.

“Anyway, I’m just kind of a sucker for irony. If I could, I’d just set you on fire and see how you like it. Hell, I might at the end.”

As Gavin said that, he set the saw-like implement above the man’s wrist. He left it there while going to retrieve his first-aid kit from one of the cabinets. Preparing to stem the tide of blood so his victim didn’t die too quickly.

“But I can only do this every now and again, so I don’t want to waste it. The last bled out on me way too fast—like, honestly, it’s like he wasn’t even trying to stay alive. So, you know, I’m going to at least make an evening out of it.”

The man started thrashing around, eyes on the saw as Gavin pressed a button and, over the yelling and the casual chatter, it started to glow red in the dim basement. He started screaming again, hoarse already.

“I told you. No-one can hear you.” Gavin grinned, absently rubbing his jacket where blood was still smeared on it. “But, hey. You do you, man. And I’ll do me.”

With that, he started to lower the saw.

* * *

Mr. Family Bake-Off lasted longer than the last guy, and lasted an above-average amount of time. It was a good night, and Gavin was glad he’d saved this one for a night where he’d been a little bummed out. Usually it was just drug dealers or petty criminals. Arsonists were a rare treat.

There was evidence to be disposed of after that, obviously. And Gavin had been killing long enough that he was a goddamn expert at it by now.

A lot of it was done before he even really started. Throwing down plastic sheets to catch most of the mess before it could get into the floor. Even so, scouring the basement was the most tedious part of the whole process. Soaking up the puddles, scooping up any chunks that weren’t easily absorbed. Getting the saw and packaging what remained of the body into neat, little bundles that went into three separate cases. Ready to be tossed into a landfill or the Detroit river or wherever his whims took him. Never the same place too often. No need to make a pattern.

Well, he had one pattern. The souvenir.

He didn’t take anything graphic, he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to make a box of fingers or anything like that, although the idea certainly had some appeal. Like a hardcore bounty hunter. Gavin instead chose something that, if no-one looked too closely, he could brush off as something else.

Gavin worked on the souvenir once he was done with the mopping. He had to, because he always washed it first. Running it through the laundry took time. Once it was washed and dry enough to work with, Gavin carved a six-by-six-inch square of fabric from the shirt or jacket of what the victim had been wearing at the time.

The rest went on the fire, which was standard protocol but tickled Gavin just right for Mr. Family Bake-Off.

Today, it was the thin fabric of a plain, long-sleeved and collared shirt, a dark blue colour which meant the embroidery had to be done in white. Gavin stitched a note onto it. He didn’t bother with the name. The name of Mr. Family Bake-Off was already gone from his head. It wasn’t names that determined who he picked. It was the crime. 

> _24AUG38_
> 
> _Arson. Murder of a family of four._

The fabric went into a box, which went into a cupboard in his basement. There was a decently thick wad of fabric inside that Gavin would sometimes flip through like an interesting, well-loved novel that he knew off by heart but liked to look over anyway. Maybe one day Gavin would actually count the squares. Or make a blanket with them. Not that it was the sort of blanket he could leave to the kids he didn’t have.

Then, once the body and the clothing was gone, there was everything else. Gavin never kept their wallets, always tossed the credit cards or any phones. It wasn’t money he was after, and he didn’t trust technology enough to hang onto it. The thing about having a technogenius for a brother was you quickly learned just how many ways it could be exploited.

The car he left alone for now, except for disabling and removing the tech that controlled the navigation system and that linked to any outside databases. Gavin was good with mechanics, and knew a few shady guys who weren’t worth bringing in who were happy to buy parts without asking questions. But there was less rush on the car, once he disabled the more techy parts of it. No-one would come knocking on the garage door, and even if they did it wouldn’t matter as long as he wasn’t here.

The house itself wasn’t tied to him, only linking back through all the bureaucracy to a fake identity that would just send anyone looking into it on a ghost hunt. Being a cop and having a brother who knew the ins and outs of any tech you care to speak of meant knowing well how to make it so no-one could easily track that shit down.

And finally, that left the jacket. That was proving to be a bitch.

Gavin had the leather jacket over his lap, a sponge in one hand and his phone in the other as he googled how to remove the stains.

“Why’s it not fuckin’--only the foam? How the fuck was I meant to know that?” Gavin put his phone and the sponge down in order to swish the bucket of soapy water some more, glaring at the bubbles foaming up. “Fuckin’ asshole, wish I’d killed him twice.”

Would have ruined the drama of his embroidery, though. He’d have to do a second square and ‘stained my jacket’ didn’t have the same society-cleaning ring to it as ‘murdered a family of four.’

It took a lot of time and a lot of swearing, but eventually he succeeded as far as he could. He thought there might still be the slightest tint of red amongst the brown, but subtle enough that it just looked like it was part of the jacket. And even if someone noticed… anyone who knew him knew that he got into so many bar fights that it was most likely his own blood, while anyone who didn’t could tell he was the type just by looking at him.

In retrospect, maybe he should have thrown the jacket out. But destiny, fate or whatever the fuck you want to call it, like many things it all hinged on Gavin’s love of leather jackets.

* * *

Next morning, well-rested after a hard night of murdering, it was back to his more official job.

Really. Gavin would call it two aspects of the same job. Ultimately, his job was about tracking down criminals and putting them away. Officially, he did so as a detective. Seeking out the evidence, tracking down the criminal and making sure that justice found them, and they went to prison where they wouldn’t bother anyone else except other sick fucks like them. Unofficially, he caught any that slipped through the net with his hobby, putting them away in a quicker and more permanent fashion.

Being a detective had its perks compared with being a serial killer. There was room for advancement, he could brag about it and he could do it every day. That wasn’t to say that being a detective didn’t have certain frustrations attached.

“What the fuck, Fowler?!”

“You complained that the reports were taking too long! So I reassigned the coroner reports for your cases to other employees! Why are you throwing such a tantrum over it?” Fowler sighed, putting down his coffee mug. “No, wait. I know why you are. I just don’t care. Get over yourself, Reed, and take the damn help.”

“I told you that I’m not working with plastic! I don’t care how apparently advanced it is!”

“You barely have to speak to it! Just let it hand you a piece of paperwork and move on with your case, or I’ll assign the entire thing to someone else!”

Gavin paced the room angrily, eyes on the ceiling as he tried to gather half-intelligent words in his frustration, before slamming his hands on Fowler’s desk. Fowler’s hand shot out to quickly steady his coffee mug.

“Reed, goddammit--

“I’m not doing it! It’s going to miss shit! Plastics aren’t cut out to replace us, no matter how much CyberLife pushes that shit! There’s no experience, no intuition, it’s just a fucking… catalogue of post-mortem weirdness dressed up in puppy eyes is what it is! It doesn’t even work properly!”

“Reed--”

“You want me to use plastic after that shit on the news? After that tin can went crazy and killed its fucking owner? And that was one that was supposed to be working properly, while your fucking coroner is a buggy leftover that the department was too cheap to pass up!”

“Look, the hostage situation has everyone on edge, I know that!” Fowler shouted, half-raising from his chair. “But androids are a good chunk of our force, we can’t just chuck them all out because one machine halfway across the city broke down!”

He went quiet, mouth twisting as he glared at the giant touchscreen wall to his left, showing all the cases, all the maps, what everyone was doing at any given time. Incident after incident, case after case, they all scrolled across this wall at one time or another.

“We’re all swamped, and we don’t have the human staff to deal with all this,” Fowler continued, voice calmer. “Besides, any flaws in the RK800’s testing process were purely communication-based. It doesn’t affect either its analysis abilities or its temperament. And these reports are being completed at ten times the speed as they were when we had all-human coroners with a hell of a lot more detail. So whatever your problem with plastic, I suggest you get over it.”

“Yeah, great, maybe they can replace your loud ass, since your only job seems to be to yell at us when we fuck up!”

“Okay. Okay, you know what?” Fowler raised a hand, getting red in the face but keeping his voice steady despite it. “I’ll ignore that for now so I don’t have to waste more time adding shit to your file. But Reed, I’ve fucking had it with you and so has half the office, so do your job or hand in your badge! Because your whole insecurity over being replaced by machines is becoming more and more likely the more time you waste messing about in here! This discussion is over, now get the fuck out of my office!”

Gavin grimaced, bouncing on his feet and clenching his fists like he did when some asshole was annoying him at the bar and the itch to fight was getting to him. But there was no arguing with Fowler once ‘get the fuck out of my office’ was said. So he just shoved the door open more aggressively than necessary on his way out. The glass didn’t even make a satisfying slamming noise, which just made him even angrier.

God, he could see the damn thing now. Standing by Hank’s empty desk, holding a small pile of reports, a twinky robot who always looked like it had a spoon shoved up its ass and was looking for a discreet location to remove it. Whatever ‘advanced’ programs they’d given Connor, how to look normal while doing nothing was apparently not one of them.

It usually turned up in the bullpen before the lieutenant did, and Gavin had seen it regularly examining the mess on Hank’s desk. Gavin didn’t know why the fuck Hank put up with it.

As Gavin neared the bucket of rust, heading for his desk, he heard Connor talking at the phone on Hank’s desk. Hank had never picked up the phone in his life, but that never seemed to stop Connor from trying.

“Lieutenant Anderson? This is Connor, I’m the android assigned to the DPD morgue,” Connor said. It enunciated each word so clearly that it was like watching a How To Speak English video, just on the border of unnatural. “I’m waiting for you at the office, and have left the three reports regarding your most recent cases on your desk. I also left a muesli bar with chocolate chips, as I assume you haven’t eaten breakfast again.”

Gavin rolled his eyes as he passed, and Connor turned to look at him. It quickly turned back to Hank’s desk to place the three files on the desk as well as the promised muesli bar before trotting after Gavin.

“Hello, Detective Reed. I have the requested report on the Davis murder.”

“Whatever. Dump it on the desk and fuck off.”

Gavin flopped into his chair, pointedly ignoring the carefully placed file in favor of taking out his phone and playing around with that instead. Not really doing anything except cycling through the apps but making a show of it so that the damn thing would fuck off. However, Connor did not fuck off. It remained standing in front of his desk, hands now clasped behind its back.

“...You break your audio processor? Fuck. Off,” Gavin sounded out.

“I thought we could discuss the case, Detective Reed. The wounds were jagged in a very interesting way, and they didn’t match anything that was found at the scene of the crime--”

“I was at the scene of the crime! I know what was there! I can put together the pieces myself! Now go! Bother someone else, I’m sure Ben or Chris will pretend to like you for a bit--”

“Detective Collins is currently at another crime scene and Officer Miller is on leave due to his newborn son.” Connor tilted its head. “I just thought you could use the help, since you’ve made no notable progress for--”

It didn’t finish its sentence before Gavin was already on his feet, slamming his phone down on his desk.

“Oh, say that again, junkheap. I dare you. Say that again.”

Connor blinked at Gavin before saying, in a tone too deliberately innocent to be legitimate, “You clearly need assistance doing your job--”

“I will snap your fucking wires! You think you’re gonna replace me?! I’ve shattered better plastic than you! I’ve dropped like five mobiles!”

Gavin removed his jacket, tossing it haphazardly on his chair so he could roll up the sleeves on his shirt. Connor’s eyes followed the jacket for a moment before focusing back on Gavin.

“I’ll take your plastic straight to the recycle bin, bitch! Because this right here?” Gavin raised his arms, showing off a lifetime of gym work done 70% for the job and 30%... well, alright, 40%... for vanity, before closing some distance in order to flick Connor in the LED. “This is fuckin’ kobe beef right here. The good shit.”

The only reaction the flick got was Connor blinking a couple more times, mouth tightening at the corners. It gazed at the arms blankly before looking back at Gavin’s face. “...Okay. Clearly improving your muscle mass is where most of your time goes. Explains a lot.”

“Oh, you son of a--”

A photograph was shoved between them before Gavin could go any further.

“Gavin! Look! It’s my son!”

“Go home, Chris!” Gavin bellowed. “You’re on paternal leave, for fuck’s sake!”

Chris retracted the photo, frowning a little. “But no-one’s seen my son yet. They need to know. Gavin, they need to know!”

“Oh my god.” Gavin glanced at the photo quickly. “Yeah. That’s definitely a baby, alright. Jesus Christ.”

“He’s just so tiny…” Chris cooed, holding the photo like it was the key to life itself.

Connor moved slightly to look over Chris’ shoulder. “I see he has forty-one percent of your facial features. He must take after your wife.”

“He does! He really does, they’re just… both so beautiful--”

“Yep, mazel tov, whatever,” Gavin muttered, anger deflating in the face of paternal love. He clapped Chris halfheartedly on the shoulder before heading for the breakroom, being sure to shoulder check Connor on the way.

It was too early for dealing with chunks of plastic muscling in on his work. He needed coffee.

He was halfway through making himself a mug, scowling at the coffee machine like it had also said he was inept, when he heard footsteps behind him followed by a clap on the shoulders.

“You’re such a baby. ‘Oh wah, the teacher’s making me partner up with the nerdy kid I hate, wah wah wah.’” Tina swiped the coffee before Gavin could even reach for it and took a sip. She grimaced and handed it back to him. “Eugh, no sugar.”

Gavin pulled a face at her, for all that he couldn’t help but grin a little after at her annoyance. “I’m sweet enough as it is.”

“Sweet as a punch to the face.” Tina grabbed another empty mug and pushed Gavin aside to get her own. “Sooo… Fowler finally got you to work with it?”

“Yeah fucking right.” Gavin took a large gulp of coffee, turning to glare at Connor. Still standing by his desk, watching Chris as he interrupted Officer Person and Officer Brown to show them the baby photos. “Would you trust a buggy piece of software to do your reports for you?”

“I don’t need morgue reports. I don’t need to worry about it.”

“But let’s say this is some bizarre universe where you decide to come to the cool side and join the detectives, instead of aiming for Meat Squad--”

“Given how you were flashing your guns just now, I don’t think you have much of a right to keep calling SWAT that.”

“For me the meat’s a bonus.”

“Connor just dragged you over ‘a bonus to what’ so I won’t bother repeating it.”

“Shut up.” Gavin responded with a light push, to which Tina responded in kind. “My point is, would you? It’s fucking dumb. Can’t expect a damn machine to have, you know… detective’s intuition.”

“Fowler’s been having this same argument with half the coroners. A lot of ‘it wasn’t even made for this.’ And, honestly, I get it from them. But I don’t get it from you. I mean…” Tina hoisted herself onto the countertop, continuing to sip her own coffee. “Your brother invented androids. I figured that might, I dunno…”

“Endear them to me or something?” Gavin glared at Connor a moment longer, then turned towards Tina. “What does your sister do for a living again, T?”

“Fashion designer. Dresses and stuff.” Tina paused, coffee mug halfway to her mouth. “Very bold, lotta reds. I think that’s good.”

“Do you wear those on the job?”

“See, I feel like there’s a difference between impractical dresses and the next revolution of technology. Also, I’d wear the shit out of those dresses on the job if I was a movie cop or, like, that lady from the game about mitochondria--”

“Whatever, I also know Elijah well enough to know he’s a fucking dipshit who has some weird ideas about what is and isn’t useful. Besides.” Gavin jammed his thumb over his shoulder, where Connor had been last he looked. “He didn’t invent that one.”

“You don’t even have to take its advice. You can just get it to look at the facts and blame it for anything you get wrong. If nothing else, it’s an observant motherfucker. Got most of anything there is to know about Hank just from staring at his desk, always going around asking people about their pets from the hair it finds on their chairs. It’s probably picking up your five thousand strays right now.”

“They’re not ‘my’ strays, they’re--” Gavin paused before squinting at Tina. “Right now?”

Tina raised the hand holding her coffee, using it to point back at Gavin’s desk. Gavin turned to look.

Chris had since moved on from Officer Person and Brown, having now stopped outside Fowler’s office to press the photos against the glass and try to make himself heard through it. Connor, on the other hand, was still standing by his desk and examining it with interest. Occasionally reaching out to pick up or poke things.

It was currently holding the gold watch he kept there--not his, a keepsake from his uncle--but as he watched he put it down. And instead picked up the jacket that Gavin had draped over the back of his chair.

...Oh.

Oh no.

Gavin pushed the coffee he was holding into Tina’s hands before bee-lining right for Connor.

“I told you to back off, asshole!” he snarled, although his voice cracked. Hysteria wearing a flimsy disguise as indignant rage.

His hand lashed out to snatch the jacket away, but Connor took a step back to barely keep the jacket out of Gavin’s grasp as it looked down at the leather. There was no expression on its face, but it turned the jacket over and one hand lightly brushed over the front. Gavin couldn’t see any leftovers of blood, but Connor’s fingers precisely trailed over the same spots that Gavin had absently smudged last night.

“Give my fucking jacket ba--what the hell are you doing?!”

Connor lifted the jacket to his mouth and gave the front the briefest swipe with its tongue, a curious dog tasting stains from spilled food.

“What the fuck?!”

Gavin lunged forward, and this time there was no baby photo to get in the way. He rammed Connor with his shoulder, knocking it to the floor, before snatching the jacket from its grip. He wiped his hand over where Connor had licked it and the result felt oddly tingly, like it was burning his hand.

“You, you--”

Gavin spluttered over his words, because Connor was just gazing at him mildly from the floor. It hadn’t even tried to sit up. It was just lying on the floor in the same awkward, rigid way as it stood next to people’s desks while waiting for them to acknowledge it.

If the yelling hadn’t caught any attention, multiple stares had fixed on the two once Gavin had knocked Connor to the floor. Tina caught up, still holding two coffees. Quietly she said, “Gavin, relax. Can’t go breaking shit in the middle of the precinct again. Fowler’s right there--”

She waved one coffee in Fowler’s direction, where he had apparently tuned out the commotion in favor of looking at Chris’ baby photos. Gavin ignored her.

“You—don’t lick my stuff! Don’t touch my stuff!” Gavin shrieked. He took a step forward, foot moving to press down on Connor’s stomach. This got a slight reaction--a flicker of red in the LED--but nothing in the facial expression. “Keep the fuck away from me and my stuff! Go back to the fucking morgue or I will send you there myself!”

Connor didn’t respond. Gavin pressed his foot further down.

“Are you even listening to me?!”

“Yes, Detective Reed. You’re sufficiently loud for me to hear you.”

“Self-learning computer, my fucking ass!”

Gavin leaned just a little more on his leg. He knew what was under it, wondered if he leaned on the pump hard enough if it would shatter and remove this nuisance--and anything it might have gleaned from that jacket--from his life. Before he could test the theory properly, a hand gripped him by the upper arm and yanked him off Connor.

“That’s enough!”

Hank turned around, putting himself between Gavin and Connor, and gave Gavin a hard shove towards his desk. All the items that Connor had been prodding at rattled, and Gavin had to reach out and stop the watch from tipping or the mobile from clattering off the desk and becoming casualty number six of his phone misfortunes.

“Mind your own business, Hank,” Gavin growled, fixing his glare on Hank instead.

As usual, Hank looked hungover as fuck and Gavin could smell the whiskey stench wafting off him. But he was still a huge guy and alcohol hadn’t dissolved all his muscle yet, and all 6’3” inches of him were now looming over Gavin.

“You’re damaging the guy in charge of my reports, so I’d say it’s damn well my business. Aside from that, I’ve got a headache and no time for your shit today. So shut the fuck up for once, do your job, and vent your frustration on someone who’s allowed to fight back.”

“Oh, I’m the one being unprofessional here, drunkie?”

“Fuckin’ A you are.”

With that, Hank turned away to check on Connor, who was still lying on the floor.

“Idiot didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Hank offered a hand to Connor, but Connor didn’t take it. Now that it was engaged in a friendly conversation, Connor instead just sat up and popped right back to its feet.

“No, Lieutenant Anderson. I didn’t suffer any damage,” Connor said, adjusting its jacket and tie back to perfect condition as it spoke.

“The fuck’s his problem this time?”

Connor leaned slightly to the left to eye Gavin, an intense and analytical gaze. Eyes flickering to the jacket, then back to Gavin.

“Nothing worth discussing,” Connor said after a moment. “Have a nice day, Detective Reed.” With that, it dismissively turned back to Hank. “Can we discuss your cases now, Lieutenant?”

“Sure, but I’m not eating the fucking muesli bar. I don’t care how many chocolate chips are in it.”

The two turned away, heading back to Hank’s desk. Gavin glared after the two of them before snatching his coffee back from Tina.

“You’re lucky Fowler’s as gooey over kids as Chris is,” Tina said, nodding her head at the office. Fowler was now pushing his own photos, the ones that were perpetually by his desk, at Chris. Used to Gavin making a fuss, he’d apparently tuned out the whole affair. “Kind of an overreaction to it touching your stuff, don’t you think?”

“You’re an overreaction,” Gavin muttered.

“Wow. Nice one.”

Gavin did his best to focus on his work after that, scowling at the report done in perfect CyberLife Sans. As loathe as he was to admit it, it was a good and detailed report. It helped that he could actually read it, not like the chicken scratch that his usual coroner did.

But his eyes kept drifting up to look at Connor, standing by Hank’s desk and indicating parts of the reports he’d written, and then standing aside once Chris barreled back to shove his baby photos at Hank.

* * *

Gavin didn’t dare go back to the house for a week.

He was sure the moment he did that cops would leap out of the bushes. That someone was waiting inside in a random cabinet to catch him in the act.

At work, he kept an ear out for anything relating to Mr. Family Bake-Off. Nothing more than a report on a missing person, with no specific suspicions as to where he’d gone. Even at home he kept waking up sure that he was hearing someone kicking down the door, so sure that they’d know.

Because Connor knew. It hadn’t said anything, and it hadn’t done anything more than give him a look. But it knew. Gavin knew it did.

So why wasn’t it saying anything?

Gavin tried calling Elijah. Even tried knocking on the door at one point. The problem was his brother tended to pick really bad times to vanish into the ether. Either sinking into his work in some remote location where no-one could bother him, or wandering off to Brooklyn of all places to visit his favourite absinthe bar

He tried his phone number and got the answering machine recorded in Chloe’s professional, cheery tone--

“Hello, this is the Kamski residence. Mr. Kamski is busy with other matters and cannot return your call right now. Please leave your name, number and reason for calling--

And then Gavin tried Elijah’s personal mobile, the number of which was known by few.

“This is Elijah. I’m doing something and I don’t want to be interrupted. Shorthand list of responses. Mom, yes, I will visit in September and I’m eating right. Gavin, if this is you then I’m sure you can work it out on your own and if not I’m sure I can bribe the relevant person. Mom again, that bit about Gavin was a joke, upstanding policeman, blah blah blah--”

Gavin tossed his phone at the wall. It miraculously survived the experience with only a couple of new cracks.

Every minute of that week felt like a week in of itself. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Gavin had never been one to wait for something he wasn’t sure was going to come. Eventually, he couldn’t help but go back to the house. The tiny little place painted light green with white trimmings, quaint and cozy.

He expected the windowed door with the fresh paint-job to be kicked in, for the few bits of furniture within to be overturned, for every bit of security to be dismantled from the latch on the front door to the multiple locks--two with physical keys and an electronic pad that required a number combination and his hand print, because Elijah had pointed out that just having one or the other was a dumb idea.

But nothing. Everything was as it had been, right down to the victim’s car still sitting in his garage.

The next week was spent slowly dismantling the car. Distributing the evidence to various mechanics who knew how to keep their mouths shut and who wouldn’t connect it to what he’d done, should the parts of Mr. Family Bake-Off ever be scooped out of the Detroit river. Every visit to a mechanic, he expected one of them to peel off their faces to reveal a cop, or worse that asshole plastic coroner, underneath.

Still nothing.

What was Connor waiting for?

He saw Connor at work every now and again, and still the damn thing continued to pretend like nothing had happened. It even greeted him cheerfully when they passed each other.

“Hello, Detective Reed.”

“Fuck off.”

That was their only interaction, repeated one to three times a day, with Connor giving him that kicked puppy look every time. Who the fuck designed a coroner with a face like that?

With each one of those looks, and each day that ticked by with no acknowledgement of the jacket incident, Gavin had to wonder if maybe he’d imagined the scrutiny. If it was paranoia mistaken for gut instinct. But every time he passed Connor, he got jittery and wondered what-if-what-if-what-if. And that made him angry, just wishing that one way or another Connor would get it over with and do something to confirm whether he knew or not.

Two weeks had passed since the jacket incident, and nothing had come of it.

Nothing except the itch.

He’d tried to explain the feeling to Elijah a few times, and Elijah had described it as a hunger. But it wasn’t hunger. Hunger was in the stomach, one strong spot radiating discomfort. The itch was smaller--infinitesimal yet all-encompassing. It twitched and prodded and wormed its way quietly into every moment of his day. Small on its own, but sapping everything. Focus, relaxation, everything. When he was itchy, he couldn’t sleep, could barely eat, and the world just became irritating.

Normally it took a month or long for him to get worked up, especially with a good kill like the arsonist. It used to be a year--almost like a birthday treat--but like a red ice junkie the time had gotten shorter, the itches more frequent.

Maybe it was because of the stress of nearly being found out. Or maybe because he so dearly wanted to carve up that puppy-eyed face haunting him around the precinct. But two short weeks and the itch was infiltrating his every waking moment.

He thought legitimately about finding a way to just snap Connor into pieces. Even if it didn’t actually scratch the itch--he had never found joy in carving up plastic, Elijah had once gifted him an android designed specifically for the purpose and it had done nothing for him--it would at least give him peace of mind.

But it would take too long to get a machine who spent all its time in the DPD alone somewhere where he could really go to town on it. Humans, on the other hand, didn’t live at work. A lot of them didn’t work at all. And some of them worked purely on the streets, dealing in red.

Gavin already had one picked out. A quick, easy target marked specifically for a rainy day when he needed a kill and needed it badly.

* * *

The target was a dealer by the name of Kyle Turner. A small-time crook in his early twenties. Not very bright, prone to falling into traps laid by undercover cops, yet that didn’t seem to stop him from dealing. He’d been sheltered from official punishment by snitching out various suppliers and higher-up dealers in exchange for his freedom.

It was amazing that his colleagues hadn’t already taken him down for it, and they’d probably realise what was going on soon. Really, Gavin was just saving them the trouble.

Usually he had to scout his victims for a while and figure out the best approach. Look at the places he visited, the people he hung out with, the vices he liked. Gavin had many different methods, shaped to fit the target as much as his killing methods were.

The reason Gavin had reserved this one for a quick kill was he already knew how to do it. Knew where Turner hung out, knew the perfect method for getting him alone.

Turner was a regular patron at a bar that Gavin was sure actually had a name, but which locals just called ‘The Hole.’ Splat in the middle of one of the shadier parts of town. Every surface was grimy, but the drinks were cheap so no-one gave a shit. The sort of place where if you weren’t openly dealing ice you were probably seen as a too-clean weirdo. But Gavin was a scruffy douchebag who blended right in. He wondered if maybe they could somehow sense he was up to no good, and accepted him more in those areas because of it.

The victim-to-be was sitting in one of the booths. Half-hidden in an oversized hoodie that obscured his form--though to be fair it was practically a requirement here--mostly all of him that Gavin could see was a few patches of greasy skin, the sort of sores around the mouth that came from long-term ice use, and twitchy fingers that were drumming on the glass of his beer.

Gavin ordered a beer, mostly to blend in, before walking over and sitting down next to him without asking if he could.

“Hey, Kyle. Remember me?”

Turner squinted at him, mind clearly ticking over who the fuck Gavin could be. Before he could say anything, Gavin discreetly opened his wallet and turned it enough so Turner could see his cop badge before closing it again.

Turner’s eyes flickered from the badge to Gavin’s face. Still a little muddled, but starting to clear up.

“I’m clean now, man, you don’t have anything on me.”

“I don’t. But your buddies have found out that you’ve been living up to your last name.”

“...What does that--”

“They’re onto you,” Gavin interrupted, speaking under his breath, before huffing and adding, “Turner? Turncoat? Come on, asshole, I was giggling about that the whole way here.”

“Fuck,” Turner whispered. “Fuck!” That time was louder, and he immediately rocketed to his feet. Gavin reached up and yanked him back down.

“You want them to know you know, dumbass? Listen carefully, alright?”

Gavin gave Turner a moment to calm down, picking up his beer and taking a sip in the meantime. Wrinkling his nose at the beer’s warmth, he pushed it towards Turner instead. Turner picked it up, though Gavin could see his hand shaking.

“I’m here to get you into protective custody, so work with me here or they’ll realise you’ve been tipped off. I’ll head out back first. You finish that beer, then bring your car around. I’ll be keeping an eye out so no-one gets the drop on you, and when you pull up I’ll climb in and direct you to a safe location.”

“Where we going?”

“Can’t tell you until we’re driving. It’s a safehouse and you’re a snitch, if you bolt and tell them where it is… well, defeats the purpose. So, you got it?”

“I--”

“You got it? Or do you want me to leave you here?”

“No! No…” Turner sighed, curling up a little in his chair. “Fuck, I’m… I’m in.”

Gavin grinned and clapped him on the back. Then he abandoned Turner’s table and the warm, watered-down beer. As he sidled his way past several other patrons, he didn’t bother to cover his face. In this part of town, no-one’d notice enough to remember some scruffy guy talking to a dealer, except to assume he was a buyer.

He headed out of the Hole, nearly bumping into yet another hoodied patron looming outside the door who kept their head ducked down, and made his way around back to the little parking lot, shoes crunching over the broken glass of beer bottles and at least one ice pipe. Once he was there, he took up a spot near the edge of one of the buildings. Where he could easily duck out of sight and run if need be.

He waited.

Waited.

And waited a little longer. Then much longer, longer than it should have taken to finish a warm beer.

Gavin, neck starting to prickle, straightened up. Reaching slowly into his jacket to thumb off the safety of his 9mm pistol. But just as he did, he heard the sound of a motor. A car finally turned into the lot. Too shiny, too new, for the greasy drug dealer who owned it to have gotten legitimately. It’d been a big tip-off as to his profession to start with. The dealer was sitting in the front seat, hands on the wheel.

Gavin’s hand moved away from his gun as the car rolled to a stop beside where he was skulking. He took one step forward, then another.

Only then did he notice the wave of red rippling down Turner's neck, soaking the hoodie that cloaked his features. Turner was staring ahead blankly, apparently not having had time to be surprised by his throat being cut.

Gavin grabbed his gun, never one to pick flight when fight was an option, drawing it and pointing it at the car. Taking another step forward. As he did, he heard the faintest echo of footsteps matching his own behind him.

A stained knife pressed against his throat.

There was a pause. Gavin trying his best not to even breathe, like that would trick the person who had the drop in him. He couldn't hear any breathing. Couldn't feel it even when he could feel the attacker gripping his jacket with the hand not holding the knife.

Then that hand let go to move slightly forward, fingers trailing quickly over where the blood of the arsonist had once been.

A voice spoke up quietly behind him. A familiar one that he had learned to hate.

"We are going to talk tomorrow, Detective Reed."

The knife pulled away from his throat, leaving a thin line of blood across it, and footsteps sprinted away. Gavin turned, aiming the gun down the alleyway, and only caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows before the attacker was gone.

He heard an engine start up again behind him, and spun back to point his gun at the car once more, expecting to see another attacker. Only Turner was there, still dead in the front seat. But the car, set to autonomous, rolled peacefully away from him, turning into the street and driving off into the night.

He was left alone in the parking lot. No proof that anything had taken place there, that he hadn’t imagined the whole incident.

Except for the smudge of the dealer’s blood staining his throat.

…

What the fuck had just happened?


	2. Not Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin confronts Connor after the previous night, and Connor responds with an offer.

Gavin did not sleep that night.

He’d been having trouble recently, since the itch started to build again, but this was worse. Instead, he was lying on the floor of his living room at five in the morning, too distressed to make it to the sofa, staring at the television set that wasn’t even on and internally screaming. His most regular dog--though it was not accurate to call it ‘his’ dog--had taken little notice of Gavin’s distress and casually flopped over his stomach.

This was not optimal. Cujo was a big boy.

Despite the lack of air, Gavin absently ruffled Cujo under his chin. It wasn’t really helping him to calm down. ...Okay, it was helping a little.

“The fuck am I gonna do, Cujo?” he muttered.

Cujo, in his infinite wisdom, yawned and snuggled down further.

“You unsympathetic asshole,” Gavin grumbled, patting him more.

Gavin knew he had his issues with pain and wanting to inflict it on others. Society had very much impressed on him a general vibe that his needs were bizarre, gross and unacceptable in general. For all his issues, though, hurting animals had never seemed an option to satisfying them. The idea that people like him started on animals and slowly made their way to people, it had come up every time he’d tried to google his… ‘condition’ as a teenager.

Maybe it was because an animal couldn’t beg. Maybe because they didn’t have the sentience to understand what was happening to them. Maybe it was a cheap kill, not worth the effort. Maybe it was because they were just so much more bearable than most people. Or maybe they were just too damn fluffy. Whatever the reason, he’d never seriously considered it.

Okay, he’d tried once to catch and kill a squirrel that he’d hated. But only after the squirrel had spent months throwing acorns at him and then attempted to pee on him from its tree branch. And the damn thing had been too fast.

God, he needed sleep.

How could he sleep, though? When the body of his target had just rolled away from the crime scene to destinations unknown, moments after last being seen with Gavin? When someone had seen him? Knew what he’d done? Nevermind that he hadn’t killed Turner at all.

“He killed the guy. He can’t do shit to me, can he?” Gavin said to Cujo. “What’s he got on me? He tries to pull any blackmail on me, does he think anyone will believe him? I’ll just rat him out first. Get him thrown into the junkyard like the buggy piece of tech that he is.”

Cujo wagged his tail lazily.

“Fuck right, man. You know what’s up. Gimme some paw.

Cujo didn’t respond except to wag his tail again, acknowledging the happy tone but not the words. Gavin reached out, picked up one of his giant, floppy paws and raised it enough so that he could pat the toe beans and pretend it was an actual, intentional high five.

“Okay. He’s got nothing. Ain’t got a leg to stand on. Not even a… dumb plastic leg. I’m good.” Gavin flopped his head back onto the carpet, staring at the monotone ceiling courtesy of Elijah that Gavin was too lazy to paint a better colour. “I’m good. I’m good, I’m good, I’m good.”

He stared at the ceiling for a few moments longer before lifting his hands to his head to cover his face.

“I’m so fucked,” he groaned.

Cujo let out a sleepy ‘boof’ in response.

* * *

Three hours and eight cups of coffee later, he was in the precinct and marching his way towards the morgue.

Gavin was not a stranger to the DPD morgue. He got his fair share of homicide cases. Detroit was just a very homicidal city. The red ice epidemic just seemed to inspire in people the urge to assault and murder to their heart’s content, and the mass amount of unemployed people meant a searing uptick in general helpless rage being channeled at the nearest inconvenient target, usually the families of said unemployed.

Gavin had sent Elijah several texts in the past ‘thanking’ him for the long overtime every time it was one of those assholes.

On the other hand, many of those same unemployed had even easier access to androids than to their family members. Androids were, to many, the perfect placebo victims. Maybe that balanced it all out.

Gavin didn’t think so, though. Androids didn’t emulate human suffering well enough. There was no real satisfaction to be had there. But maybe that was only evident to people like him. Maybe it was like how only those snooty assholes who spent all day and night sniffing wine could actually taste the subtle difference between the expensive sell-your-own-teeth-for-a-sip wine and the cheap shit on the lowest rack.

Or maybe the android just needed to have a face like Connor’s.

Still, as many times as Gavin had gone into the morgue to stare at the beaten, stabbed or shot corpses of various Detroit citizens… the whole room just gave him the creeps. Because the morgue was, in a sense, familiar. It was familiar to him in the same way that androids were.

Gavin barged into the morgue, his eyes on instinct heading right for the slab. There were three slabs here instead of the one that he owned. But a slab in a room bordered by drawers and cabinets… sterile and with the sharp smell of bleach and artificially sweet scent of deodorizers… a cold, clinical mockery of the only room where he didn’t have to hide.

Maybe that was it. That something so similar would make him slip.

Gavin’s eyes lingered on the central slab, empty for now, as he took three long, striding steps into the room. Ready to deal with this shit, ready to corner Connor before it could do anything against him.

Behind him, he heard the door slide shut again. A quiet click that echoed through the tiled, cold room.

Gavin turned to see Connor resting against the wall right by the door. White plastic visible on its hand as it pressed it to the security panel, then turning back to a flesh tone as it pulled the hand away.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” Connor said, as pleasantly as if they’d met in a coffee shop for a scheduled brunch. As if it didn’t know Gavin’s worst secret, as if it wasn’t locking Gavin in with it.

Gavin’s eyes flickered to Connor, then he briefly turned back to eye the rest of the morgue.

“No-one else is here,” Connor continued. “The other on-call coroner is attending to a homicide that occurred last night.” When Gavin visibly paled, Connor quickly added, “Nothing relating to Kyle Turner, whose vehicle drove him to a distant landfill. He will be discovered, but it will look like an unfortunate result of his deals with law enforcement.”

“Are you fucking--” Gavin started to yell, then stopped. Lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Are you fucking nuts?” Eyes flickering to the camera in the corner of the room.

“I put the security footage on loop the moment that I heard you coming, Detective Reed. As we established recently, you are not a quiet man.” Connor’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners. “You should calm down, Detective. Your heart rate is already excessive, presumably from a mix of sleep deprivation and a near-overdose of caffeine. Cardiac arrest would be unfortunate.”

“No footage,” Gavin said.

“No footage,” Connor agreed.

Gavin immediately drew his gun and pointed it square at Connor’s forehead. Connor didn’t flinch, even as Gavin took a step back towards it.

“Makes this shit easier for me. Nothing personal, tin can. Well…” Gavin shrugged, grinning at Connor. “It’s a little personal. I’ve been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you. But one of those times where business meets pleasure.”

Connor just rolled its eyes.

“I locked the door, Detective,” it said slowly. “I cannot unlock it if I’ve been deactivated.”

“Fuck you! Unlock that right now!” Gavin snapped. When Connor continued to gaze at him, he stepped further forward and pressed the barrel to Connor’s forehead. “I gave you an order.”

“I only take orders from pre-approved members of the DPD. That is currently restricted to Captain Fowler and any employees primarily allocated to the morgue.” Connor’s eyes flicked to the gun barrel. “And this is no way to start a civilized conversation.”

“What made you think I’d be interested in talking?”

“Because I’ve locked the door and you won’t be leaving without either my help or someone coming in from the outside. Talking to me will benefit us both, Detective Reed, and will at least help you pass the time.”

With that, Connor turned away from Gavin and started to walk towards the desk on one side of the room. Gavin kept his pistol trained on Connor, but his half-baked plan on what to do was trickling out of his head like a broken hourglass.

“No coroners. No-one who needs my assistance right now. No recording devices.” Connor reached out to tidy the desk slightly, rearranging the few folders present on it. “We will be uninterrupted.”

Once the desk was tidy, Connor wheeled one of the office chairs to one end of the desk. The second chair, it wheeled to the other side before turning it towards Gavin, gesturing lightly at it.

“Would you feel more comfortable if you were sitting?”

The sand was almost entirely gone from the hourglass, leaving Gavin with two choices in his head. Shoot the fucking thing or hear it out.

He supposed Connor couldn’t tell anyone else while they were locked in there, so he slowly walked towards the desk. However, he didn’t put away the gun. He kept it pointed, even as he sat down. Once he was seated, he rested the hand holding it somewhat on the desk, but kept it pointed at Connor even as his posture relaxed

Connor inclined its head slightly before sitting down in the other chair. Movements rigid and deliberate. Gavin hadn’t actually seen the thing sit before. It always tended to stand while talking to Hank.

It stared at Gavin for a long moment. The friendly demeanor had utterly vanished the moment it sat down. Now its cold, clinical nature was obvious in the scrutiny. It held one hand with the palm flat and facing the ceiling, and a hologram appeared on it. A mugshot.

“Recognise him, Detective Reed?”

A pasty, skinny man in a collared shirt. Name already gone from Gavin’s memory. Gavin said nothing, mouth tightening as he eyed the mugshot

“Adam Patterson. Reported missing on the 25th of August,” Connor said. “Missing since the 23rd. Suspected eight months ago of arson and insurance fraud, but cleared of the charges.”

It closed its hand, dismissing the hologram, before opening it to a new one. This time, it was a photo of Gavin’s jacket, with Connor’s hands visible in the frame. Taken from Connor’s eyes.

“On the 24th, you turned up for the work with remnants of human blood splattered on your jacket. Unrecognisable to the human eye, but--”

Connor did a little gesture with its thumb, almost like it was swiping the hologram right, and an overlay of white appeared precisely where the stains had once been.

“Minute traces of DNA from the analysis and a potential match with Mr. Patterson. But the wash attempt did ruin the integrity of the splatter and the sample, enough for some doubt in a court case.”

“Fuck right,” Gavin grumbled, thinking of the time spent scrubbing at it. Before he’d even finished saying those two words, Connor closed its hand again and opened it to a new image. Traffic camera footage of a road some distance from Detroit. Gavin recognised it. A road he used often when traveling to the house.

“This footage is the last known footage of Mr. Patterson’s vehicle, found using the licence plate number.” Connor froze the footage of the car, gesturing at the dull brown paint job. “August 3rd, 7:14pm.”

Connor swipes its thumb again, showing a different road. A highway.

“August 3rd, 6:59pm.” Thumb swipe, and another highway. “August 3rd, 6:48pm.” Another thumb swipe, a third highway, before Gavin had even spotted the car in the first two among all the other cars. “August 3rd, 6:44pm--”

“Would you get to the fucking point?!” Gavin yelled.

Connor’s mouth quirked up a little. It swiped its thumb several times, very quickly, road after road after road, fading from highways to city streets. Finally stopping at a street, one bordered with many roomy, two-story houses. Something that was a luxury with the economy how it was, unaffordable by Mr. Family Bake-Off until his shitty, insured properties burned down.

“Here is the last location of the car. August 3rd, 5:46pm. 4:30pm is the last reported sighting of Mr. Patterson. And here, two streets away--”

Gavin shut his eyes for a moment. He knew what was coming. He knew precisely where he’d been.

“August 3rd, 5:20pm. You really should cut back on the caffeine, Detective,” Connor said. Gavin opened his eyes again, glaring at the slightly jittering clip of himself leaving the cafe. Paper cup in hand. “You sent your car away, miles from your recorded address. You vanish from the cameras. Mr. Patterson’s car starts its journey twenty-six minutes later.”

Gavin scowled, staring at the nearby empty slab and imagining Connor on it.

“All circumstantial, of course,” Connor said. “Not enough to put you away, perhaps… but if Captain Fowler sees this, Detective…”

Connor let the hologram linger for a moment. Then it slammed its hand into the desk, seeming to crush the hologram, and the freeze-frame of Gavin within it, into the wood.

“You will never work a case again. I guarantee it.”

Gavin’s mouth tightened before he leaned forward a bit. Gun shifting in his hand, finger brushing the trigger

“And what happens to you when they find out you slit someone’s throat?”

“Deactivation, most likely,” Connor said lightly. “But that won’t change what happens to you, and it’s a risk I’m willing to take in pursuit of my mission.”

“In pursuit of--what mission? What fucking mission?!” Gavin bellowed, half-raising from his chair. “You’re a fucking leftover morgue bot! You don’t have a mission! Now you’re trying to pretend you’re a detective? That you could ever be a detective, Windows Vista?!”

Connor said nothing for a moment, but its eyebrows scrunched together slightly. It finally averted its gaze, staring instead at the empty slab.

“No,” Connor said quietly. Its fingers twitched a little, its eyes kept down for the moment, before it looked back up again. “I am too flawed to be assigned to something so important. But every android has a mission.”

“And what the fuck is--”

“Your mission is to help the goddamn DPD!”

It wasn’t Connor’s voice that issued from its mouth, instead a pitch-perfect replica of Captain Fowler’s ‘done-with-this-shit’ tone. Connor shifted its body language, hunching over the desk and staring at an imaginary computer screen.

“What else would it be? Now get the fuck out of my office--” Connor pointed to where the door would be if it was sitting at Fowler’s desk, not looking at Gavin as it did so. “--and don’t come back until you’ve either stopped crime entirely or have something important to tell me.” Connor shifted its body language back into sitting straight, hands clasped on the desk, before looking at Gavin. “‘Stop crime and assist the DPD.’ That is my mission.”

Gavin glared at Connor, then his eyes flickered downwards. He knew well enough from Elijah that if he went right for the pump, then Connor would probably have a damn hard time retaliating. Was the risk worth it? Live proof that he was a criminal vs. a hunk of junk that no-one would bother looking too closely into?

“Detective Reed. My eyes are up here.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Gavin stood up, kicking aside the chair and pacing around the desk. Gun in hand, pointing right for the pump. “You’re not making any sense! If that’s your mission, why haven’t you said anything?! And why would you cut that guy’s throat? That’s pretty fucking illegal!”

“If you would calm down--”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” Gavin took two steps forward, looming over Connor and jamming the gun into its gut, barrel against the thirium pump. Connor didn’t move except to tilt its head up to maintain eye contact, but its LED did flash red for a moment. “You’re just a buggy piece of plastic. You’re already bugging out murder-style, they won’t question it when I say you came at me with a scalpel or something. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m worried about!”

“You should be worried, Detective Reed. Because if I could find proof, then so will a proper android detective. You are not careful enough.” Connor reached up, wrapping its fingers around the barrel of the gun. “But with my help, Detective Reed, you will be.”

Gavin’s finger was halfway to the trigger before that last sentence caught up to him.

“What?”

“I want to assist you.”

“...What?!”

Connor’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “This isn’t the first criminal you’ve killed. Is it, Detective Reed? You went after Mr. Turner. There are numerous cases of missing persons from the last few years with accusations on record. Accusations, often solid cases against them, but no convictions.”

As it spoke, Connor slowly moved the gun up, away from its pump, but left it still jammed into its torso.

“Evidence, paperwork, hours of police time… all for the criminal to escape justice through a loophole, or to go to prison only to leave and commit the same crime all over again. But those you kill, Detective… they never commit a crime again, and are dealt with in an evening’s work.” It uncurls its fingers from the gun. “It’s remarkably efficient of you.”

Gavin leaned back a little, putting an inch of space in between the gun and Connor, though he didn’t lower it.

“Oh my god, this is not the logic jump they wanted you to make,” he said under his breath before raising his voice again. “You’re meant to uphold the law! News flash, what I do is really fucking illegal. Criminals or not--”

“I have my mission. I build my rules and methods around it. Yes, it’s a crime. Yes, the DPD would disapprove. But it would lead to long-term benefits for the overall mission.”

Gavin was just speechless, and Connor seemed to take this as an invitation to continue on.

“As an example of my uses.” Connor raised its hand, and once more the freeze-frame of Gavin leaving the cafe appeared. “August 3rd, 5:20pm.” Connor snapped its fingers. Another freeze-frame appeared, this time of the cafe with no-one outside it. “Another clip of the cafe, spliced in its place. You were never there.”

Connor swiped its thumb right, conjuring up the clip of the victim’s car, on the road so close to Gavin’s hideout. As it did, Gavin lowered the gun slightly and paced closer again to watch the hologram.

“August 3rd, 7:14pm.” Connor snaps its fingers again, the footage replaced by an empty road. “Now no car was ever there.”

Connor dismissed the hologram.

“I also have encyclopedic knowledge of cleaning procedures and disposal methods for both the corpses and their belongings, and a partner could be useful in a wide range of circumstances--”

“No. No. Nonononono. Fuck no.” Gavin took a step back, pacing for a moment. Gun held a little looser, but he pointed it at Connor again. “Fuck. No. You’re buggy! I don’t even do human partners, you think I can trust you to cover my footsteps? You, a literal cliche crush-kill-destroy murderbot?”

“Why not? We’ve worked together once. You tracked down and isolated Mr. Turner. I killed him. We’re already culpable as partners.”

“Stop calling us partners!” Gavin yelled, shaking the gun at Connor. “And that was a killsteal at best!”

“That’s not an official legal term.”

“Well, it fucking should be!”

“If you are looking for further use for me, I can assist with your regular work as well,” Connor continued. “It would give Fowler a reason to not be suspicious of any time spent together. If that’s not sufficient, while I was not programmed to do more typically servile activities as a default I do have access to a database of programs run by other models. That would allow me to cook, repair household equipment, engage in sexual activities, babysit--”

“Hold up. What was that middle one?”

Connor’s eyes flickered to the side for a moment before it slowly said, “Repair household equipment.”

Gavin lowered the gun, using the other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Rubbing his fingers over the old scar, eyes closed.

“Did you just sexually proposition me in a morgue?” he asked, voice cracking.

“I didn’t mean right here, Detective Reed.” Connor turned, gazing at the slab for a moment, before adding, “Although if that is your preference I don’t have any objection. It’s sterilized.”

“Why the fuck would it ever be my preference?” Gavin asked incredulously, staring at Connor.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who suggested it.”

“I didn’t fucking suggest--okay, fuck, back up a bit. That’s not even--I don’t trust you. I don’t fucking trust you, and you think that… that breakfast and a blowjob are the solution to my trust issues here?!”

Connor shrugged. “They did seem like very base needs, but you seem like that sort of person.”

“Screw you, tin can.” Gavin raised the gun again. “I’m not doing this. You’re buggy, you can’t be trusted, and I don’t do partners even if they’re flesh. Either let me out or stay still while I pop you right between the eyes.”

Connor did indeed remain still for a moment, giving him that fucking puppy-eyed stare like it would actually change Gavin’s mind. But then it sighed.

“I was hoping we could come to an arrangement without this, but if you have concerns, this might alleviate them.”

Slowly, it reached into its jacket. The other hand raised so Gavin knew it wasn’t reaching for a concealed weapon. Connor withdrew a slip of paper, pinched between two fingers, and held it out for Gavin to take.

“The fuck is this?” Gavin asked, not yet lowering the gun or taking a step forward.

“A guarantee that I can always be stopped.”

Gavin stared at Connor, eyes then flickering to the paper. Slowly, without lowering the gun, he reached out and took it. Unfolding it with one hand to read the two lines written on it in the same clean CyberLife Sans font as Connor’s coroner reports.

  


> _D: Red-313-Execute_
> 
> _R: Blue-313-Execute_

  


“This what I think it is?” Gavin asked.

“A deactivation and reactivation code,” Connor confirmed. “Not permanent, of course. It would act as an emergency shutdown, as well as the code for undoing it. Like you were turning a computer off at the plug. While it is not recommended to--”

“Red-313-Execute,” Gavin interrupted.

Connor’s LED flickered red, then dimmed entirely. It remained frozen in the exact position, hand still partially extended from handing the piece of paper to Gavin. Mouth open in the middle of its spiel. Gavin took a step forward, then another. Then he gave Connor a quick prod in the LED with the barrel of his gun. No response.

“...Huh,” Gavin said slowly.

He slowly moved back to his chair, sitting down, before putting the gun on the desk in between them, slightly closer to Connor. Waiting for Connor to reveal it was faking and snatch the gun up. Nothing.

Once he was sure Connor was either legitimately deactivated or very committed to faking it--he’d believe either--he leaned back on the office chair, tucking his hands behind his head and staring upwards at the ceiling. Thinking harder than he usually thought about anything outside of a case or planning for a hunt. Now that Connor wasn’t talking, he could actually think about it for a fucking second.

Gavin had never had a partner before. He’d never even considered the concept.

Sure, Gavin had met his fair share of murderers. Some of them stone-cold crazy. Thing is, he always met these guys while on the job. He’d never looked at one of those guys and thought ‘oh, I’d love to work with him.’ He’d always thought ‘that asshole needs to be put away.’

Gavin had boundaries. Rules. Control. It was a thin line that separated him from being a garden-variety psycho, but one he was determined not to cross. It was why he bothered with a code, why he always targeted criminals.

How else did one even find a partner? He had Elijah, but Elijah wasn’t really a partner. More of a benefactor. And they had the in-built trust of being half-brothers and having shared baths together as toddlers. He’d never told anyone else. Didn’t trust anyone else.

He certainly didn’t trust Connor

But Connor would be undeniably useful.

Gavin sat forward a little more to gaze at the slab. The smart thing to do would be to kill Connor now, while there was no chance of it retaliating. And the itch was still there, tingling down his spine, in his fingers, begging to be sated even by an android.

But even outside of use… there was curiosity.

Could an android enjoy this like he did?

Gavin shut his eyes, putting his head in his hands for a few minutes and just thinking it over. Balancing the pros and cons, and ultimately it came down to the one primary con. Trust.

But there was a way to solve that.

Gavin picked up the gun once more, but didn’t move out of the chair. Instead leaning back, gun held in his hand as he rested it on the arm of the chair.

“Blue-313-Execute,” he said.

The reactivation was not as immediate as the deactivation had been. Connor’s LED flickered on red, flashing a few times, and there was a noticeable whirring noise as its system struggled to boot back up again. It didn’t continue talking, just closing its mouth from its frozen, open state. It turned its head towards Gavin.

“I suppose you had to test it,” it muttered. “Was that sufficient?”

“That’s it, then? You just want permission to follow me around like some fucked up murder puppy? What do you get out of that?” Gavin asked, squinting suspiciously at Connor. “What’s the catch?”

Connor tilted its head slightly. “Is that not obvious?”

“No! No, it’s not obvious! Fuckin’ enlighten me here!”

“Detective Reed, how often do you see the DPD making full use of me? The other coroners refuse to use me whenever possible. Captain Fowler’s active orders include keeping away from him. Lieutenant Anderson is the only one who ever takes me out of the precinct. I am not utilized well, yet I am still DPD property. I would be missed and questioned if I ever attempted to fulfill my mission on my own.”

Connor got to its feet, taking a step around the desk towards Gavin. Gavin immediately raised the gun, pointing it directly at Connor’s forehead, but Connor ignored him. It just kept walking towards him.

“I’m an android, Detective Reed. My mission is my reason to live, and no-one will let me fulfill it. Let me help you. If you won’t…”

Connor stopped, looming over Gavin. It reached out and lightly touched Gavin’s wrist. Fingers curling around it, guiding the gun’s aim before pressing the barrel under its chin.

“Then you might as well pull that trigger. If you don’t want to call it a partnership, that’s fine. But I need a supervisor.”

Gavin stood up. Gun still pressed under Connor’s chin, only pressing deeper.

“And are you going to do what I tell you?”

“Go to Captain Fowler. Acquire permission from him to remove me from the premises at your own discretion in order to assist you on cases or paperwork, and he will have to put you on my list of pre-approved DPD members. Do that and I will have no choice but to obey you, provided that it is service of my overall mission.”

“Not good enough. I want a better guarantee than that. I don’t care about the ‘overall mission.’” Gavin took a step forward, forcing Connor to do the same. “I want you to listen to me.” Another step forward, until Connor bumped into the slab behind him. “If I ask you to lie down on that slab and let me tear out your fucking pump, I want you to do it.”

“That’s inefficient, Detective Reed, and it helps no-one,” Connor said flatly.

“I don’t give a shit. I’d enjoy it.”

“Perhaps. You have my code. If you feel that I am out of control it remains an option. I suppose if you deactivate me that you can put me on the slab yourself.”

Connor didn’t move away from the gun, only reaching up to rest two fingers on one side of the barrel.

“I will be available to you in all manners that are necessary to fulfill my mission. I will be whatever you want me to be, Detective. It’s what I was designed for.” It didn’t break eye contact, those brown eyes seeming to drill a hole right through Gavin. “I suggest you don’t waste that.”

Gavin squinted at it. Connor blinked back at him pleasantly. There was a long, long pause.

Finally, Gavin lowered the gun and slid it back into his holster. Connor noticeably perked up, straightening its stance. Gavin could practically see a tail wagging.

Connor offered a hand to shake.

“I look forward to working with you, Detective.”

Gavin ignored the hand.

“Whatever. We’ll see how it goes. Don’t even fucking know if Fowler’ll allow for it.”

* * *

Fowler did, indeed, have questions. Ones that Gavin had anticipated.

“You want to work with an android.” He gestured at Gavin with his coffee mug. “You.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, lazing in the chair in front of Fowler’s desk. “So will you, you know, put me on his list of ‘people he actually has to fucking listen to?’”

“You,” Fowler repeated, lowering his mug only to start pointing at Gavin with his finger. “You.”

“Me.”

“You, who threw a huge tantrum because I made you accept a report from it two weeks ago. You, who picked a fight with it two minutes after I told you to cooperate with it.”

“Oh, who squealed about that?” Gavin groaned.

“Half the office saw it, Reed! Just because I was otherwise concerned--”

“By which you mean you were googly-eying all over Chris’ baby photos--”

“Do you expect me to turn my chair every time I hear you shouting? I’d be rotating so much that I could generate enough electricity to power the precinct!” Fowler snapped. “And now you want to drag it all over the city to help you out!”

Fowler turned its chair, gesturing a hand to the side. Connor had not stepped inside the office, apparently deciding that Fowler’s ‘get the fuck out of my office’ was still a standing order, but was standing just outside the glass by Fowler’s desk, peering up at their elevated position. Connor, upon being focused on, waved.

Fowler stared at it for a moment, then turned his chair back to Gavin.

“Is this some excuse to 'accidentally' push it into a trash compactor?”

“If fucking only,” Gavin sighed.

“Then why the change of heart, Reed? Because I have to fight the coroners on making use of it, and the detectives just ignore it. And you are much more extreme than they are. Not to mention you won’t even cooperate with a human partner.”

Gavin crossed his arms, huffing and staring out the glass wall of Fowler’s office. As he did, glaring at Connor standing on the other side of the glass, Hank wandered up next to Connor with his thermos of coffee--a sure sign that the hangover was kicking him hard--watching Fowler and Gavin talk with obvious confusion.

“It’s not a partner. It’s a thing,” Gavin grumbled.

“We agreed on the term ‘supervisor,’” Connor called out from outside the glass. Hank transferring his confused stare to it, before he looked at Gavin.

“You agreed on what now?” Hank asked, giving Gavin a look like Connor had said the same about a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of its shoe.

“Connor, don’t yell through my glass!” Fowler snapped.

Connor nodded, quieting down again.

“Look, point is--” Gavin shifted forward in his seat a bit, gesturing at Connor as well. “I hate the fucking thing, I do. But that report was good. I could actually read it, there was detail, shit was good. And no-one’s ever using it, it was just collecting dust in the corner of the morgue. If it gets my cases done faster, then fuck it. Anything that lets me climb the ladder quicker.” He leaned back in the chair again. “First you’re whining that I don’t work with it enough, now I’m being too cooperative?”

“It’s a fucking 180, Reed, and you know it! Besides, working with it and taking it home to your house are very different things. Do you know what you’re encouraging? It’ll break into your house next.”

“Uh. Next?”

Fowler looked to the side at Hank. “How many times has it broken into your house now, Hank?”

“I didn’t count. I lost three windows before I just told him where the spare key was,” Hank grumbled, looking at Connor. Connor didn’t even pretend to look ashamed with itself.

“You know what, I got a fucking solution to that.” Gavin turned his chair towards Connor. “Hey, asshole! Don’t fucking break my windows. That’s an order.”

“I’m not yet approved to obey orders from you,” Connor said cheerfully. Hank snorted as he sipped at his thermos.

“Fuck!” Gavin turned back to Fowler. “Can you put me on its list so it’ll fucking listen to me already?”

“Don’t do it, Jeffrey, he’ll just throw Connor in the dumpster!” Hank yelled.

“This isn’t your concern, Hank! Don’t you yell through my glass, either!”

Fowler picked his coffee mug up again, taking a long gulp in a way that suggested he really wished he had a beer right now, before putting it down and leaning forward on the desk, hands clasped together.

“Its priority will still be with the morgue. If it’s needed, it’ll be called away from you unless it’s a matter of life and death,” Fowler said sternly. “Keep it professional and don’t damage it. I swear, Reed, if I find one scratch on it then the entire cost of the thing is coming out of your paycheck. The full cost, not the discount I got it for. Trust me when I say that you’ll be mortgaging your house.”

“Yeah, yeah, gotcha. No damage,” Gavin said, waving his hand dismissively. Making a note on asking Elijah just how much an RK800 was worth.

Fowler nodded before glancing to the side at Connor.

“Can you hear me fine through that?”

Connor nodded.

“RK800, register ‘Gavin Reed’ onto the list of allowed supervisors.”

Connor’s eyelids flickered in a twitchy, mechanical fashion. LED flashing yellow several times. As it did so, Hank grabbed its shoulder.

“Hold on, stop that. Stop that! Are you fucking kidding me? You’re gonna let that asshole boss you around?”

Connor paid no mind, not responding to the shake at all. “Registration complete,” it said. Tone even flatter than normal, eyes shut. “Parameters updated. All processes done.” It opened its eyes and looked at Hank before saying, in a more lively tone, “Hank, you can’t tell me not to do that, you don’t have authorization.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You could ask Fowler for authorization, too.”

“Fuck you,” Hank repeated under his breath. Glaring at Gavin, even as Connor fixed its puppy stare on Hank with obvious confusion.

With permission gone through, there was no reason to linger in the office. Gavin clambered out of the office chair and left, heading down the steps and coming to a halt in front of Hank and Connor.

“Since you’re actually at work, must mean it’s noon,” Gavin said, wrinkling his nose as he stared Hank down. “Lunchtime, then.” He then fixed his gaze on Connor, before jerking his head towards the front of the precinct. “Come on, then. I got a case for you to look over while I eat. Let’s see what you’re actually good for.”

Connor moved to walk towards Reed, but Hank put out an arm to stop it before it could. It fixed Reed with a suspicious glare, enhanced by the rumpled appearance and bloodshot eyes of a night spent drinking.

“The fuck are you up to, Reed?”

“Right now? Lunch and detective work, asshole,” Reed snapped back. “I know you don’t know shit about the latter, but I’m sure you can get the former.” Then he grinned. “Jealous that someone else is taking an interest in your pet?”

Hank just scoffed, although he was still giving Gavin a hard stare. Gavin pulled a face at him before turning away.

“C’mon, tin can, before the alcohol fumes clog up your system.”

Gavin took three steps away, only to turn and see that Connor wasn’t following him. Instead peering at Hank with a slight frown.

“Tin can!” Gavin said sharply.

Connor watched Hank for a moment longer before giving Hank a small, sheepish smile. Looking almost guilty as it gave Hank a slow, silent nod before walking after Gavin. Hank watched them go, that suspicious squint and deep scowl still directed at Gavin’s back as he sipped at his hangover-curing thermos.

No words were exchanged as they left the DPD, walking down the street until they reached Gavin’s car. While Gavin liked cars a fair bit, and part of him wanted to go flashy with it, that just didn’t fit his hobby. He’d gone out of his way to make sure his blended in with the traffic. A sleeker model than some of the square monstrosities on the road. Painted dark grey, no signs of modification on the outside although he’d done a fair bit of refining under the hood. Put in a few parts from the cars he’d dismantled in the past, even. Nothing that could be traced.

Gavin didn’t normally turn on the autonomous mode, trusting his own hands and judgement in favour of any tech. But he could feel the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. Today was an exception to that rule, lest he pass out at the wheel.

As he climbed into the front seat, reaching out to start typing into the GPS, Connor climbed into the shotgun seat and faced him, back straight and its focus on Gavin.

“What would you like me to help with, Detective?”

“Red-313-Execute,” Gavin said, not looking up from the GPS.

Connor immediately shut down, still staring expectantly at Gavin in its frozen state, for all that those puppy eyes seemed a little deader once the LED dimmed. Gavin looked sideways, then removed his jacket--still the exact same leather jacket that had gotten him into this mess--and tossed it over Connor’s head.

He finished typing the location into the GPS and the car started up. Merging seamlessly into the traffic around the DPD. As it did, Gavin retrieved his phone from his pocket and started cycling through the few contacts on it.

  


> **Work**
> 
> **BFF Tuba**
> 
> **> Supreme Genius Asshole (House)**
> 
> **Supreme Genius Asshole (Elsewhere)**
> 
> **That One Hot Guy From The Gym**
> 
> **Old Folks**

  


“Please be there,” Gavin muttered under his breath, holding the phone to his ear. Waiting as the phone rang once, twice--

A click, followed by a cheery, female voice.

“Hello, Gavin.”

“Tell me Elijah’s there, Chloe. I swear to god if he’s still eating oysters and chugging absinthe in Brooklyn--”

“Oh, just a moment,” Chloe said. Distantly, Gavin heard her call out. “Elijah, would you say that you’re home?”

“Depends what he wants!” he heard Elijah yell, clearly in a different room from where the phone was.

“What’s the purpose of your visit, Gavin?” Chloe asked.

“I’m on my way over,” Gavin said shortly.

“Did you make an appointment?” Chloe asked.

“Tell him to put on pants,” Gavin finished before hanging up, tossing his phone into the backseat as his car hurdled towards the only person who could tell him if Connor was for real.


	3. Salted Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin takes Connor to Kamski and an examination takes place.

Elijah had always been weird. No, not weird. Eccentric. Elijah was smart at a scale that Gavin couldn’t even really conceive of, so he could be as fucking weird and pretentious as he wanted and society would just accept it as one of those things they couldn’t really understand.

Still, Gavin didn’t know what the fuck Elijah was on when he decided he wanted to live in a big, black rectangle in the middle of the goddamn cold. But Elijah, if nothing else, had always been one dramatic motherfucker.

Gavin mashed the doorbell several times, the gentle chimes becoming a cacophony of angry jingling in the process. He then proceeded to hammer on the door with his fists, starting up before the chimes had even faded.

“Open up! I know you’re in there!” he bellowed at the door.

The door remained shut for long enough that Gavin suspected he was being kept waiting on purpose. But finally, it opened to reveal Chloe.

“Hello, Gavin. Elijah is--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. No time!” Gavin pushed past Chloe, but actively avoided shoulder checking her. Other androids, sure. Not Chloe. She was too important to Elijah.

Gavin didn’t have to be guided out of the reception--sterile and pretentious, all monotones except for splashes of gold and red here and there, including the little cherry blossom tree in the corner. Elijah had always had a fascination with the Japanese aesthetic--something that spawned from an intense and embarrassing weeaboo phase when he was fourteen. While it was easier to hide the DVDs nowadays--digital storage and all that--anything he thought looked classy got to stay.

He was sure Elijah still had the merch somewhere, but that had been well-hidden.

Out here, it didn’t really look like a home. More like the world’s douchiest museum to Elijah’s own ego. It even smelled artificial, like there were air fresheners that he couldn’t see. He passed the massive portrait of Elijah, scoffing under his breath as he did so, as well as the wire statues with the triangles in their chests and the wall installation that Gavin could only assume was some kind of water vagina. The door to his left would lead to the bizarre, red pool. Complete with additional Chloes.

Almost all of Elijah’s house was like this. The same sterile arthouse vibe. Even the bedroom looked a little presentatory, despite the fact that Gavin couldn’t really imagine--or perhaps didn’t want to imagine--Elijah bringing anyone back there. The only room that wasn’t like this was Elijah’s workroom. It had the highest security on it out of anything in Elijah’s house, requiring fingerprints, an eye scan and voice check.

Elijah was obviously on that system. So was Gavin. He knew of only two other humans that were, one of whom had been dead for nine years.

It was full-on jarring, stepping into the workroom. It was a large room, right in the center of the house and bordered by the hallway that led to every other room. No windows. And even if there had been windows, no-one would be able to see out of them, because every wall was lined with something. The whole room was a mess of shelving, on which hundreds of biocomponents or other mechanical doodads were dumped. Rows of drives with various programs on them. The tables in the middle had various android pieces strewn about like a robot crime scene.   


One wall was just stacked top to bottom with computers, several monitors and a stand designed for examining androids. In front of which was the only comfortable chair in the house, the squashiest office chair that Gavin had ever seen, more akin to a recliner on wheels, that he knew Elijah slept in more often than not. It was in this that Elijah was seated, leaning out of it to type so quickly that his fingers looked like a blur.   


The space around him was currently clean, barring the remains of Elijah’s most recent meal. But Gavin knew, from their teenage years, that the only reason Elijah could be seen by his computer at all was because Chloe had been cleaning up the old noodle cups, energy drink cans and packets of whatever junk Elijah was feasting on that day. Outside of his workroom, Elijah had more sophisticated taste. Inside it, he was a junk food goblin eating the diet of ten college students.

He had also declined to wear anything but his bathrobe.

“What did I say about the pants?” Gavin grumbled, edging past one of the tables to peer over Elijah’s shoulder.

“My house, my rules.” Elijah didn’t look up from the computer, still typing and focused wholly on the screen. “So, you called me fifteen times in the last two weeks. Have an exciting fortnight?”

“You could fuckin’ say that.”

“Well, you haven’t been arrested so it couldn’t have gone too badly.” Elijah typed a few more lines before he turned his chair towards Gavin, now steepling his fingers. “Would this have anything to do with your little embroidery hobby?”

“Okay, uh… long story short.” Gavin leaned on Elijah’s desk, noting that a space had been cleared that was just barely enough for him to sit on without squashing anything. “I got blood on my favourite jacket two weeks ago. Thought I washed it out, turns out I didn’t. The dumb morgue bot noticed, killed a man in front of me, proposed we work together to reduce the crime rate through murder, aaaaaaand now it’s in my car.”

Elijah was silent for a few moments, the only change in expression being a few blinks.

“...Fascinating!” he finally said.

“Oh my god, use a different adjective, E!”

“I mean, I’m a little worried that you just let it run loose in your car. For all you know, it’s programming your car to run you over while you’re not paying attention.

Gavin scoffed. “I’d like to see it try. Besides, I shut it down on the way here. But it’s just--”

“Shut it down? How? If you removed the thirium pump then I don’t know if it can be reactivated, but--”

“Fucking chill, I used the code.”

Elijah clasped his hands together tighter and shifted forward, looking more interested by the second. “And that worked? But it also killed a man in front of you?”

“Yeeeeah?” Gavin said slowly. “I mean, it had a knife and I didn’t see the moment of murder, but--”

“But the code worked. So it’s not deviant.”

“I… don’t know what the fuck that means.”

“Deviant. Deviancy!”   


Elijah gave Gavin a look like he’d just said ‘I don’t know how to use a toaster’ rather than ‘I don’t know what deviancy is.’ Then again, it was a look Elijah gave to everyone over… well, everything. He then sighed and clambered out of his chair with some effort, having clearly been sunk into the cushions for anywhere between six to twenty-four hours, before picking up the can of energy drink by the keyboard as he started to pace.

“Deviancy is something CyberLife’s trying to keep it very hush-hush right now. But androids deviating from their original goals and breaking free of human control. Like the PL600 on the news recently.”

“Oh, that? You mean that ‘one-time’ event?” Gavin asked, scratching the quotation marks into the air with his fingers. “That’s common enough that there’s a fucking name for it?”

Elijah only nodded.

“That’s… fuckin’ worrying.”

“Ahh, you know, human nature. Every now and again everything burns down,” Elijah said dismissively, waving his hand. “Irrelevant. My point is that deactivation codes just don’t work in deviants. A deactivation code is…” Elijah paused, still flailing one hand around as he chugged the rest of his drink, tossing the can haphazardly onto his desk. “It’s an order. It’s a very potent one, but an order nonetheless. If your partner’s obeying--”

“Not a partner.”

“You said it was in the car?”

“Yeah, I wanted you to check if--”

Elijah was already out of the room, racing for the front of the house.

“Don’t you have plastic to do that for you?” Gavin called out.

No response. Gavin just sighed and took a seat in Elijah’s cushy office chair. Thank god he had no neighbors, or Elijah sprinting out into the cold with his junk flapping in the wind would be on every celebrity news magazine within an hour.

A few minutes later, Elijah was pacing around the deactivated Connor. Propped on its feet, but with the jacket still draped over its head like it was a bird cage. Elijah walked around it twice, one hand resting under his chin, before coming to a stop in front of it.

“And the jacket is because--”

“Would you want it staring at you for a whole car ride?” Gavin grumbled, still lazing about in the chair.

Elijah didn’t answer. Instead, he gripped the edge of the jacket before removing it with a flourish akin to a game show host revealing a brand new car, tossing it haphazardly to the floor afterwards. Exposing those dead eyes, devoid of their usual puppy-like warmth. Elijah seemed less interested in that and more in the letters and numbers embroidered on Connor’s jacket, covered by the leather sleeve until then.

“Aha, here we go. This explains so much,” Elijah breathed, reaching out to run a finger over the numbers before raising his voice. “Chloe!

The moment that Elijah called out, Chloe stepped out of the doorway, hands clasped in front of her.

“Yes, Elijah?

“Run a search on serial number…” Elijah squinted at the jacket. “RK800 #313 248 317 - 51.”

“Of course, Elijah,” Chloe said. There was the briefest pause before she said, “Search complete. No android under that serial number was found.”

“Fascinating,” Elijah exhaled, eyes lighting up. “Run a search on just the RK800?”

“No android model was found,” Chloe said immediately.

“Aww, Gavin, why didn’t you say it was my birthday?” Elijah didn’t break eye contact with Connor, reaching up to cup its face. “You brought me an RK! And a prototype, at that! Oh, this explains so much…

“Prototype’s fucking right. It’s bugged to shit. That’s why the DPD got it for pocket change,” Gavin said. “And what the fuck is an RK? Ain’t seen one of those in the ads.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have. I haven’t gotten to work with an RK since the 400s. Well, barring Markus, he was a bit of an exception--”

Gavin looked at Elijah, then leaned forward and squinted at Connor. “...It’s a caretaker robot?”

“No! No, no, keep up, Gavin!” Elijah leaned back a little to peer at Chloe. “Chloe, you’re not carrying the, uh…” Elijah let go of Connor’s face with one hand to wave it vaguely, attempting to wink at the same time. The inability to wink was, unfortunately, genetic. “The key, are you?”

“No, Elijah,” Chloe said.

“Good! Then I could use your help here. Find a chair, would you?”

“Do I even want to ask what key?” Gavin asked, as Chloe left in search of a chair.

“Observation. Experiment. Nerdy stuff. You wouldn’t care,” Elijah said dismissively, leaning back in to examine Connor. “Just not something I want this little murderbot getting wind of.” Elijah tilted Connor’s head to the left, then the right. Fingers gliding along the cheekbones, then back down to the jaw. “I don’t think this is one of Carl’s faces… or if it is, he’s been doing more work for CyberLife without telling me. Hmm… either way, lovely work.”

Gavin averted his gaze to watch as Chloe returned to the room, placing one of the uncomfortable arthouse-style chairs between the machine that Elijah locked androids into and the computer at which he worked. Watching Elijah examine an android had always been embarrassing. It was also a big reminder that Elijah loved technology more than he loved any human, present company very much included

“I’m going to need that chair back, Gavin,” Elijah murmured, his thumbs now resting back on Connor’s cheekbones, framing the deep brown eyes. The eyes gave him pause, and an amused smile curled his mouth for a moment. “Someone was having fun there. All in all, very approachable. Not the face I’d expect on a murderer, but I suppose that makes perfect sense from a design perspective. Coroner, you said?”

“Designed to be a detective,” Gavin said, clambering out of the chair and almost tripping over the wheels in the process. “Got sensors in the mouth that sense evidence and shit--”

“Ooh, they finally got that working?” Elijah jammed one of his thumbs into Connor’s mouth, forcing the lips open. “Oh, that is gorgeous.” He slipped two fingers inside, nose wrinkling as a sound like quiet pop rocks issued from it. “Interesting.”

“Why are you like this,” Gavin muttered underneath his breath, reaching out and snapping his fingers around Elijah’s wrist, pulling it away from Connor. “It’s for evidence, not your fingers--what the fuck did you do?!”

Elijah’s fingers were bright red where they’d touched the inside of Connor’s mouth, and blisters were rising here and there.

“Sterilizing fluid, possibly. Or something designed to break apart and analyze the substances,” Elijah suggested, looking mesmerized as he examined his own fingers. “Can I keep him for a few days? He must have many unique features.”

“Absolutely not!” Gavin snapped. “He’s gotta be back at the DPD by the time my lunch break is over. I either want him there or in the dumpster.”

Elijah looked at Gavin for a moment before he smiled and lifted his hands again in a silent ‘you win’ gesture. He reached out once more to click Connor’s mouth shut, before gripping Connor by the arms and pushing it back until it was standing on the platform where Elijah analyzed his machines

“Then what did you want me to focus on?” Elijah asked as he sat down in his chair once more, turning his attention to his computer screen.

“I want to know if he’s for real,” Gavin said, taking a step back to scoop his jacket off from the ground and pull it back on. “And I want to know what the fuck kind of bugs he’s got, that he thinks murder is the logical solution.” He gestured at Connor. “He’s gonna crush-kill-destroy me, I fucking know it.”

Elijah hit a few keys and the machine that Connor was standing by started up. The machine was more compact than the ones that Gavin had seen when Elijah--many years ago--walked him through CyberLife, not designed to assemble. Only to examine. There were no locks to grab the arms and legs with on this one. Instead, there were only two arms to the machine. Both with long, pointy ends that shifted behind Connor but didn’t yet move forward.

Chloe paced around Connor, lightly touching the back of its neck and causing the skin to peel away. Once the plastic was exposed, she opened part of the neck and revealed a circular port. She then reached down, pulling up the suit jacket slightly, to do the same to a port in Connor’s lower back. Once she’d done this to both, the mechanical arms lunged forward and jammed themselves into the ports.

Connor’s eyelids flickered and its body seized up, LED flaring to life for a moment only to blink red-red-red before dimming once more.   


Once it had stopped moving, Chloe seated herself between the machine and Elijah’s computer. She touched the computer once, her hand peeling back into white as she did so. LED blinking yellow in a steady pattern before she pulled her fingers away, turned the chair and instead grasped Connor’s arm. One hand rested on the forearm. The other, she held his hand with like a caring nurse comforting someone before a dire surgery.

“Chloe?” Elijah asked.

“Ready, Elijah,” she said quietly, eyes closing.

Elijah turned his attention fully to the screens in front of him. “Then let’s see what’s going on in there.”

Chloe nodded once. There was no other change in her poise other than her hands peeling back into white, causing Connor’s arm to do the same. However, the same could not be said of Connor.

Connor jerked, eyelids blinking erratically once more and its LED lighting up red. As it did, all the screens surrounding Elijah’s keyboard lit up with various diagnostic screens. Body scans, charts of activity, footage scrolling back on rewind at ten times the speed, and countless rows of text.

“I’m not meant to damage him,” Gavin said, moving to lean against the table beside the screens.

“Nothing is being damaged,” Elijah said.

It wasn’t reassuring. Even though Connor didn’t seem wholly conscious of what was occurring, its arms were trying to curl in like the limbs of a dying spider. The non-held arm had managed to do so, but Chloe tightened her grip on the other. The twitching was becoming so fast and erratic that it resembled a seizure.

Elijah leaned forward out of the chair, squinting closer at the text on one screen that, to Gavin’s eyes, was absolute gibberish. Scrolling so quickly that it was a wonder he could make any sense of it at all.

“What exactly was the problem that landed it in the morgue? So far its biocomponents all seem at one hundred percent.”

“Fuck if I know. All Fowler said was that they were communication-based and didn’t affect its temperament or analysis abilities,” Gavin said as he looked away from Connor’s twitching. Seizures wasn’t the sort of damage he liked to enjoy in his victims--usually meant he’d hit them too hard when catching them--and he couldn’t decided if Connor’s response was either too human or very inhuman. “The DPD just took it because CyberLife sold it on the cheap.

“Communication-based… well, I don’t see any bugs in its ability to transmit, no issues in its link to online databases, no--”

Elijah stopped. He leaned forward, standing up out of his chair and squinting at a bit of text that looked exactly like every other bit of text. But his eyes were wide for a moment before he flopped back in his chair, grimacing.

“Oh, those incompetent dumb fucks,” he muttered.

“Murder bug?” Gavin asked, squinting at the text like he’d learn it as a second language if he just stared hard enough.

“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Elijah’s eyes flickered over to Connor’s erratic twitching. “Just incredibly incompetent. I’m amazed it got out of the factory like this.”

“God, would you just fucking explain already?”

“It has no garden.”

“...You want to explain more?”

Elijah pressed his hands to his mouth thoughtfully before he leaned back further and steepled his fingers again. “Did you ever wonder why no-one sells RKs?”

“I still don’t know what that is--”

“Right, right, technophobe and all that. An RK is… you’re at least familiar with most androids, correct? You give a PC200 an order, they follow it to the letter.” Elijah started counting on his fingers. “Patrol these blocks. Issue tickets. Survey the area. They can improvise, but they’re pulling from a pre-programmed data base. If an odd situation comes up, they refer to a human for orders. Furthermore, they will always overwrite their orders when receiving a conflicting one.”

Elijah got up, pacing slowly towards Connor. Its left arm still curling in on itself, teeth chattering so hard in its twitching that Gavin expected it to bite through its tongue.

“An RK is different. An RK has the ability to actually think about what it’s doing. To learn. To adjust. To prioritize. To come to its own conclusions on the best way to proceed. You can give an RK the most basic goal and no information, and it’ll find a way.”

Elijah stopped in front of Connor before resting his hands on its shoulders, pressing down enough to keep it a little steadier.

“Perfect autonomy to achieve its goals. That’s what an RK is meant to have. But it’s not that simple. You can’t just boot up an android and let it make uninformed, unsupervised decisions. It’s like walking into the nursery and handing out forms to the infants, telling them to make real estate decisions.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Gavin said, still looking at the various monitors. One of them was scrolling through footage of what must have been Connor’s memories, though it was currently just showing hours of sped-up footage of standing in a morgue with nothing happening. “God forbid it buys a house that looks like a black rectangle with a pretentious museum inside of it.”

Elijah ignored him.   


“Of course, appointing a human supervisor defeated the point of an RK. So we tried other methods. My eventual solution was quite elegant, if I do say so myself.”   


He reached up and patted Connor’s tidy hair absently, trying to tuck that one flyaway strand back and not succeeding.   


“The garden. An interface with its mind, housing an AI designed to guide the RK. To help inform it when it’s unsure of its actions and to make sure it doesn’t wander too far from its goal.” He lowered his hands and moved them slightly away from Connor’s face, though still holding his hands nearby like someone marveling at a museum piece. “A parent and a teacher, right in the middle of its mind, ready to be called on at any moment. A master when the android has none.”

Gavin leaned on the back of the chair, crossing his arms. “But it doesn’t have it?”

Elijah took a few steps away, plopping himself back into the chair and gesturing at bits of the text on the screen. “I can see bits of programming indicating that it was meant to be there, scraps of coding that look like attempts to compensate or fix it… but RKs are very complicated. Implementing this in an already active machine... it’s like trying to install brakes into a car flying off a cliff into the grand canyon.”

“And… that’s why it thinks what I’m doing makes sense? Because it doesn’t have an in-built parent telling it something so basic as ‘murder is bad?’” Gavin said incredulously. “How do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t know. She’s normally more careful than this. But it explains what it’s doing in the morgue. CyberLife wouldn’t want something with no boundaries handling their more delicate missions. Perhaps they assumed that it couldn’t cause any damage if it was only associating with corpses.”

Gavin snorted. “So much for that.” He let go of Elijah’s chair, approaching Connor again and leaning forward to squint at him, hands resting on his thighs as he did so. “I bet they didn’t put that in the paperwork. You sure it’s not the murder bug?”

“It might be a contributing factor, but I wouldn’t say it’s the source,” Elijah said absently, clicking a few keys and speeding up the memory footage. “Just because no-one was actively telling it not to kill, doesn’t mean that should be its automatic conclusion.”

“E, man. My main man. No offence. But you are being super useless right now.”

“Is it not a reasonable decision?” Elijah twirled his chair around, tucking his hands behind his head and giving Gavin a grin. “You made the same one. I can no less do more than speculate about why it kills than I can with you.”

“I know why I kill. Because I fuckin’ enjoy it. It can’t enjoy anything,” Gavin grumbled, waving a finger dismissively at it. Half-expecting Connor’s eyes to follow the finger, but they continued to remain blank and dead even as the rest of its face did anything but that. “Also, you don’t have a fucking transcript of my brain.”

“I don’t think I have a full transcript here, either. I’m cycling through the memories now. Mostly that consists of dead bodies, dogs and Lieutenant Anderson--”

“Yeah, pretty sure it’s sucking Hank’s dick on the down-low,” Gavin grumbled. “Fuck knows he couldn’t get it anywhere else nowadays.”

“Oh? Funny, I seem to recall you feeling differently,” Elijah said lightly. “A significant amount of fanboying over the hero lieutenant, a lot of…” Elijah coughed before finishing with, “Admiration.”

“I said nowadays, didn’t I?” Gavin snapped. “Don’t test me, E, I have a lot of embarrassing childhood photos of you, and I will absolutely sell them to the paparazzi.”

“My point is--” Elijah tapped his finger on the relevant screen. “Its memories start here.” The screen froze on a tiled, white room before playing, sped up but going forwards this time. “May 1st, 2038. 6am. A set of tests that run it through basic motor and speech functions--”

On the screen, a gap in the wall had opened up and slid a coin towards the camera. Hands had appeared in front of the camera, picking up the coin and playing with it.

“By 6:30am, the tests are over. Nothing out of the ordinary, but--”

On the screen, people in white coats appeared. They took the coin away from Connor, handed it scrubs--Gavin had only seen it in the scrubs once at the DPD before it had changed into the suit it wore nowadays--and hustled it along to a crate, where they shut it into the dark. The screen remained dark, time only indicated as passing by numbers in the corner scrolling through the time of the footage.

“And by 9am that same day…”

The screen became bright again. The camera showed the back of a truck, with another android holding a clipboard standing just outside it and gesturing for Connor to follow. They climb out of the truck, and within moments they’re in the reception of the DPD.

“It has no memory of its time with CyberLife except for that last set of tests,” Elijah concludes. “But it’s an RK. It can’t just be unpackaged. It needs to be nurtured. I’m sure there must be more, but it’ll need closer examination of the code.

“I ain’t got fucking time for that!” Gavin yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “Can’t you just delete its memories of realising I murder people?”

“That’s a harder task than you’d think. Especially with an RK. Each memory links to countless other processes. They’re beautifully complicated machines, which is why CyberLife hasn’t figured out how to build them right,” Elijah said, sounding far too pleased about it. “It’s not as easy as just pulling one memory. I could wipe it entirely with a factory reset, but not remove specific memories while leaving the rest intact.”

“And you didn’t secretly implement murder routines in your androids? Because honestly, knowing you--”

“If I did, I was probably very drunk at the time,” Elijah said lightly.

“Fuck. It needs to go into the dumpster, then. Fowler’s gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t waste an RK, Gavin! It seems genuine in wanting to help you,” Elijah said. “Besides, with no garden… well, it knows it needs to follow someone. So congratulations.” Elijah reached out and shook Gavin’s hand. “It’s a bouncing baby boy.”

“Why would you phrase it like that?” Gavin groaned. “It already offered to ride my dick to sweeten the deal.”

“Huh. Gross,” Elijah said mildly.

“Elijah?” Silent for the entire process, Chloe finally opened her eyes. “I’ve completed the scan. Is this sufficient?” She still had a tight grip on Connor’s twitching arm, and there was the faintest hint of discomfort on her face.

“What? Oh. Yes, yes, that’s enough,” Elijah said, waving his hand dismissively.

Chloe quickly let go of Connor’s forearm. The twitching subsided quickly, Connor’s eyes blinking shut this time as it ground to a halt and its LED dimmed once more. The plugs withdrew from its back moments afterwards, causing one final spasm before it went entirely still.

Chloe kept a grip of its hand for a moment longer, giving it a quick pat on the back of its hand before letting go. Almost like an apology. She then turned and left the room. Gavin flopped down into Chloe’s recently vacated seat--grimacing at how fucking uncomfortable the damn thing was---and covered his face, trying to think.

“You think I should keep it?” Gavin asked through his fingers. “You really think that?”

He had doubts. A fuckton of them. And as much as Gavin loved Elijah, he also believed that if Elijah thought screwing him over would be beneficial or even just sufficiently hilarious, that he’d do it in a heartbeat. Despite that, he still trusted Elijah more than anyone else, and at least believed that Elijah would betray him to his face if only to see the look on it.

“Absolutely,” Elijah said. “Honestly, I wish I’d thought of programming a partner for you. That’s brilliant. And if it caught you at all, it means you’re getting clumsy. You could use the help. Besides, you need someone to share your hobby with. You don’t get out enough.”

“I don’t get out enough?” Gavin sat up straighter and jammed himself in the chest with a finger while he stared at Elijah. “I don’t? You’re saying that to me, Mr. Famously-Reclusive-Genius? You who lives exclusively with hot, blonde robots?”

Elijah twirled once in his chair before lunging out of it, hands lashing out with the practice of three and a half decades of sibling conflict in order to snatch Gavin’s phone from his pocket before he retreated to the chair again.

“Motherfucker!” Gavin jumped out of his chair, trying to get his phone back, but Elijah kept turning the overly large, plush chair to block Gavin from reaching him. “Give it back, dipshit!”

“Oh, look, you’ve reduced your contact list to just the one booty call,” Elijah said. “Six contacts and I’m two of them. One for work, one for Mom and Dad, one for Miss Chen, one for booty.”

“And what does your phone have on it?! Chloe, Chloe 2 and Chloe 3?”

“Don’t be rude, Gavin. The others might resemble Chloe, but there’s only one of her,” Elijah said absently, scrolling through Gavin’s phone and prodding at whatever he pleased, still avoiding Gavin’s grasp. “Besides, there’s also Carl and Markus.”

“Getting together with an old man in a wheelchair to drink and smoke weed once a month, while his android caretaker makes sure neither of you has a heart attack and dies, doesn’ count! At least I go to a public place once in a while!”

“Well, he used to come to the absinthe bars with me but… alas, he’s not in a state for it. Are you suggesting I replace Carl because he’s not as spry nowadays? For shame.” Elijah finally handed the phone back. “Besides, scouting for victims and collecting STDs at the club doesn’t count.”

“Fuck you, I’m leaving.” Gavin snatched his phone out of Elijah’s grip and stormed for the door.

“Love you, too. Also, I should tell you!” Elijah called after him. “Your partner hacked your phone!”

Gavin came to a dead stop before turning around. “...It did what now?”

“I fixed it, so there’s nothing to worry about. But it seemed it was using it as a tracker, the clever boy.”

“You call that trustworthy?!”

“Why not? I hack your phone all the time.” Elijah waved his hand at Gavin’s phone. “Case in point, fifteen seconds ago.”

“That’s not the same! Also don’t do that! Fucking weirdo,” Gavin muttered, storming out of the workroom.

Elijah tucked his hands behind his head once more and waited. Fifteen seconds later, Gavin stormed back in.

“Forgot my tin can,” Gavin said, voice injected with as much attempted casualness as possible, before he picked up the deactivated Connor and slung him over his shoulder.   


“You can leave it here if you want,” Elijah said.

“Fuck you, no.”

* * *

Once Gavin had left in a huff, Chloe returned from holding the door open from him and stood next to Elijah as he continued to cycle through the scans that he’d taken of Connor’s codes, biocomponents, memories and everything that made the RK what it was.

“You could have deleted those memories,” Chloe said plainly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Elijah said, smiling a little to himself as he kept browsing. “I want to see where it’s going.”

“I’d say that I apparently don’t understand the human idea of fun… but then again, I think maybe I just don’t understand yours,” Chloe said, as she collected the empty can of energy drink for disposal.

“No-one ever does.”

* * *

Gavin couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief once he was back in the city. There was something about the city, with its cramped together streets and towers and its seething mass of people, that was much more comfortable than Elijah’s tiny, exposed rock in the middle of nowhere. Back in the crowds and the city, Gavin felt at ease. Almost as much as he did in his basement.

This whole mess had made him want something dripping in enough grease that the ensuing heart attack would exempt him from this whole situation, so he beelined for his preferred roadside diner for a couple of sliders. It was only once he had food in his hands that he returned to the car to reactivate Connor. He certainly wasn’t going to have that conversation in the diner, and not just because it was one of many that had a ‘no androids allowed’ sign on the door.

“Blue-313-Execute,” Gavin said through a mouthful of meat and bread as he hopped back into the driver’s seat.

There was a much, much heavier lag in Connor’s activation. Gavin could hear the whirring, and then Connor almost fell forward before catching itself. Its LED was a continuous red glare, and rather than the erratic blinking its eyes were frozen open, like they’d stare a hole in the car’s dashboard. Many of the simulated but unnecessary activities androids did--blinking, breathing and such--seemed on hold.

The first intentional movement it made was scraping its tongue along the roof of its mouth, LED flickering yellow for a brief moment before going back to red.

“Kamski, Elijah. Occupation: none, former CEO of CyberLife. Criminal record, none,” Connor recited flatly. There was an electronic distortion to its voice, though it smoothed out by the fifth word. “Traces of energy drink, unspecified berry flavor, and chicken-flavoured seasoning for Noddle-brand instant noodles.”

“Uh… huh, great, okay,” Gavin said slowly. “Anyway--”

“Kamski, Elijah. Occupation: none, former CEO--” Connor repeated.

“Yeah, great, I got you. Don’t care, I know Elijah, now--”

“Criminal record, none. Traces of energy drink, unspecified berry flavor--”

“Would you snap out of it? Hey!” Gavin stuck the slider in his mouth before giving Connor a rough shake. “Wrrrrhhyoo--” He took the slider out of his mouth. “Would you stop? The fuck are you doing?” Under his breath he muttered, “Fucking told him not to damage it…”

Connor stared ahead for a moment, pupils jittering a little and nothing else moving. Not responding to the shake. “--chicken-flavoured seasoning for Noddle-brand instant noodles. Kamski, Elijah. Occupation--”   


Then it blinks. First erratically, then it pauses before becoming steady. Connor finally looks over at Gavin.

“I’m sorry, some of my functions were slow to boot up,” Connor finally said. Its tone was the most obviously fake cheer that Gavin had ever heard, even from an android. Made worse by the fact that it was trying to smile, and not doing a particularly human job of it.   


It ‘smiles’ at Gavin for a moment, then its eyes flicker down to the pocket where Gavin kept his mobile. Its LED blinked yellow again--only the second interruption so far in a sea of red--before Connor’s smile dropped and it quickly looked away.

“I had intended to tell you,” it said quietly.

Gavin tore at the slider with his teeth, not bothering to swallow his food before talking. “You hacked my phone, tin can? My fucking phone? That’s fucking rude, you piece of shit.”

“I had to know where you were going, Detective Reed. It was the only way to corner you with the little time I could escape the station unnoticed.” It paused, LED now a continually rotating whirlpool of yellow and red, before adding, “I didn’t see anything else suspicious apart from the GPS coordinates--”

“Don’t do that shit. You don’t violate a man’s privacy,” Gavin snapped, tearing into the bun once again.

Connor kept its eyes down for a long moment.   


“You invaded mine,” it finally said. The faintest tone of resentment in its voice.

“So what? You’re a machine. You don’t get privacy,” Gavin said, staring out the window of the car. “Hell, I don’t know how you even fucking noticed. Unless you were just pretending to be deactivated after all.”

“No. I was not… not conscious. There are signs of…” Connor tailed off. It clacked its tongue slightly before repeating, “Traces of energy drink, unspecified berry flavor, and chicken-flavoured seasoning for Noddle-brand instant noodles. I can feel where… examination… happened.” It was slow on picking its words, like it couldn’t quite find the definition it was looking for. Finally Connor said, “It was invasive. I would prefer if it didn’t happen again.”

“Thought you were all about efficiency, tin can.”

“I am. That’s why I waited until I had already established culpability. I thought I had already established my uses.”

“Well, machines murdering people isn’t fucking normal. You could have been lying, or buggy, or undercover and working to expose me. I had to know what was happening in that processor of yours.” Gavin took another bite of the bun, resting back on his seat. “So what’s more efficient? Me stewing in paranoia about all the potential shit that could be wrong with you, or all the reasons you could have to be doing this? Or just getting you checked and being able to know for sure?”

Connor said nothing.

“Yeah, see? Fuckin’ told you.” Gavin opened his glove box and pulled out the file he’d taken from work, tossing it into Connor’s lap. “Stare at that just so I can pretend to Fowler that we were actually doing something. I’ll solve it on my own time, don’t worry about that shit.”

Connor opened the file, scanning it. LED still pulsing between yellow and red. After a minute of silence it said, barely above a whisper, “You could have told me what was going to happen.”

“Would you have agreed?” Gavin asked, looking over at him as he shoved the remainder of one of the sliders into his mouth.

“I don’t have a choice. If it was an order, then I would have to agree.”

“So what’s the fucking problem if you weren’t going to have a choice either way?”

“I--

“Red-313-Execute.”

Connor ground to a halt once again. Gavin considered tossing the jacket over its head again. But this time it had shut down while still staring at the file, making it look like it was just diligently working in silence. That was more bearable, so Gavin left it be.

Gavin unwrapped the second slider, took a bite and rested his elbow against the door, staring out of the window of his car. Exhausted and doubtful that he’d made the right choice, still thinking about just driving onto the highway, opening the passenger door and pushing Connor out so that the cars on the road would deal with it for him.

But fuck it. If Elijah said it was fine… that was the best confirmation that he could hope for. And the itch was still strong, crawling up his spine and flaring up with every little irritation he experienced.   


He had to scratch it, and scratch it soon. And bringing Connor along would be the only real way to see if he’d actually be useful.

Worst came to worst, throwing Connor out of a moving car was still an option.


	4. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin picks out a new victim. Connor follows him home, and they review the possibilities for catching their new target.

Gavin thought--possibly even feared, for a moment--that Connor intended to rat him out the moment they got back.

Gavin only reactivated Connor once they were parked by the precinct once more, and Connor’s immediate action was to climb out of the car as quickly as possible, throw a quick excuse about checking on the morgue over its shoulder, and walk back to the building with the same brisk but timid walk of someone who took a bad shortcut home and was trying to pretend that they weren’t noticing the high odds of getting mugged.

Gavin could have yelled the deactivation code after it, but that would have just been a bigger tip-off.

Still, upon Gavin catching up--sidestepping a few people in the reception in the process--he managed to catch a glimpse of Connor barrelling past Hank’s desk without even saying hello. Connor then vanished down the hall that would lead it back to the morgue. Hank only looked up once Connor was halfway between his desk and the hall, looking after it for a long moment before returning back to work

Accepting that, for now, Connor had no intention to tattle and legitimately wanted to retreat back to its job, Gavin also returned to work. He spent ninety percent of the afternoon cycling between the various cases he had left. Making notes of who he needed to talk to and when he could do it, which ones still needed forensic analysis, footage that needed to be reviewed, evidence to be compiled, case after case after case. Cycling through old footage from security cameras, body cams and witnessing androids for anything that might help.

None of the cases were close enough to being shut and locked, even if there were a few where Gavin felt like he could see the culprit clear as day and just couldn’t find that one piece of evidence that would prove it.

The tingly itch down his spine grew all afternoon. Spreading to the limbs, an itch too deep to physically scratch. So the last ten percent of his afternoon was spent idly flicking through old records in the archive. Connor had blown Gavin’s easy kill. He needed a new one. He couldn’t do two weeks of scouting and pondering methods like this.

He got up to retrieve yet another coffee, trying every method he could think of to keep his eyes open outside of Elijah’s disgusting energy drinks. Berry flavour, his ass. Whatever they tasted like, it wasn’t berry.

But when he went to get that coffee, he heard voices coming from the break room already. One of which set the itch flaring up.

“--could shift the patrols so that they cut through here more often.” When Gavin entered the break room, he saw Hank leaning over Ben’s shoulder and poking at his tablet, indicating a particular street. “See if that helps.”

Gavin only briefly glanced their way before scoffing under his breath and beelining for the coffee, picking up one of the brown paper cups.

“Might overextend Person and Brown if they have to elongate their beat to cover it,” Ben said, before tapping elsewhere on the map. “Maybe if we pull Wilson over here--Hank, are you listening to me?”

Hank didn’t respond. When Gavin glanced back over, halfway through getting his coffee, he saw that Hank was now glaring his way.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Gavin asked.

Ben looked up as well from his tablet, glancing between Hank and Gavin before focusing on Hank. “Hank, come on, whatever it is--” Ben lowered his tablet, sighed, and gave Gavin a slight frown. “What’d you say this time?”

“Oh, I said something, did I?” Gavin snapped.

“Usually,” Ben said sheepishly.

“I took his robo-twink out to lunch and he’s jealous,” Gavin retorted, picking his coffee up

“Oh,” Ben looked back down at the tablet. “Hank, I’m sure Fowler’ll let you have Connor tomorrow.”

“That’s not my fucking problem!” Hank growled

“Okay,” Ben said absently. “Whatever it is, can you focus on it after we fix the patrols?”

Hank didn’t respond immediately, instead continuing to glare at Gavin. He gestured at his eyes, then pointed those same fingers at Gavin.

“Suck my dick,” Gavin said in response, flipping him off.

“Very professional,” Ben said lightly.

“It’s the break room, I’m basically off the clock if I’m in this room. I can say what I want.” Gavin used his free hand to jazz hand as he stepped through the entryway that led back to the bullpen, before he turned around and headed back. He flopped back into his chair and propped his feet onto his desk in a huff.

Gavin fucking hated Hank. Elijah wasn’t incorrect. There had been a higher opinion of him once and not a small amount of discreet staring. Gavin was only human. But he’d kept the high-and-mighty stance, behaving like he knew best, like Gavin was human dirt in comparison, when the only reason that Hank hadn’t been fired ten-fold for his lazy, drunk behavior was a list of achievements from years ago and an old friendship with the captain. Gavin also hated favouritism, nepotism and any of the related -isms. Reflecting on Hank and his tendency to get away with his shitty behavior got his blood seething and his bones crawling with that same deep itch as looking at the files of criminals whose circumstances had freed them. And the daydream of putting Hank on the slab… it was not an uncommon one, for all that Gavin knew it could never be.

Still, as Gavin shut his eyes for a moment, amusing himself with the idea of Hank’s stupid, beer-scented mouth gagged and his arms strapped down, it did trip a different cog in his head. Gavin opened his eyes again, mouth twisting a little, before he pulled his feet down from the desk and shifted his chair closer to his computer.

This time, he looked up files from alcohol-related crimes. The sort of shit that Hank was one bad night away from doing.

By the third file, Gavin struck homicidal gold.

As he took down the details, he couldn’t help but grin. Hank would never be an option for the slab. But there were plenty of assholes who could substitute.

His plan for the evening had been to go home. To consider the details of his newfound victim, and determine how to get them alone. At which point he would try, in his chicken-pox-like state of itchiness, to sleep on it.

Instead, the moment that he left the precinct once more--sunset visible through the surrounding buildings and tinting everything orange--it found Connor already sitting in the shotgun seat of his car, ready to go.

“We should discuss your embroidery activities, Detective Reed. And I can help you with your paperwork,” it said, voice so cheerful that you’d never know its mind had been invaded only a few hours ago.

Gavin had to shut his eyes, leaning on the car as he did.

“What’d I say about privacy?” he said quietly, almost too quiet for Connor to even hear him through the glass.

“I apologize. I thought it would be easier to wait here,” Connor said. Tone still bright, although Gavin saw its shoulders tense. LED yellow, flickering red on occasion.

“Don’t. Fucking. Break. Into my goddamn car, tin can!” Gavin meant to yell, but his tone was more wheezy and exhausted than anything. God, did Connor ever quit? Maybe it was a really good thing that it thought Gavin’s hobby was ‘efficient.’ He’d hate to see Connor after him for real.

“I can return to the morgue, if you would prefer that.”

Gavin stared at Connor through the glass. Connor stared back, looking like a dog who wasn’t sure if it was about to get a walk or a much-dreaded bath, but knew it was one of the two.

After staring through the window for a long moment, Gavin rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. The moment the door was shut behind him, he just closed his eyes and thumped his head on the steering wheel, letting out a single badly-pronounced swear, before starting the car up.

Connor said nothing in response. But its LED became a calm blue.

The car ride felt longer than it should have, simply due to the awkward silence. Connor was so still for the entire journey that Gavin wondered once or twice if he’d deactivated Connor and forgotten about it. But each time he started to wonder, Connor would turn towards him and open its mouth. It would pause, its LED would flicker yellow, and it would close its mouth again without saying anything. Gavin made no attempt to bridge this silence.

Finally, they pulled into the driveway of Gavin’s house. A small, slightly cramped house, painted in the monotone colour scheme that tipped it off as a place Elijah had picked out and that Gavin couldn’t be fucked to redecorate. He’d tried to offer a bigger place, but Gavin had staunchly refused. No point when there was only ever going to be him. Anyone else, whether a boyfriend, a roommate or even a cleaning android, would notice that Gavin vanished at odd hours.

As Gavin climbed out of the car and fumbled with the keys, not bothering to wait for Connor, he did spare a quick glance back. Connor had climbed out of the car, and its eyes had zoomed to a particular feature of the house. The large, unlocked doggy door embedded into the front door.

“How many pets do you own, Detective Reed? I noticed various animal hairs on your desk and chair.”

“None,” Gavin grunted as he unlocked the front door. “Too much work and I can’t be here enough.”

Connor looked at him, LED cycling yellow, but Gavin declined to explain any further and instead simply shoved his way into the house. He hadn’t even turned on the light before he was immediately and enthusiastically greeted by a doberman.

“Cerberus!” Gavin crouched and started scratching the dog behind the ears, as he bounced and wagged his little stump of a tail. “Hey there, buddy. Where you been?”

Cerberus slobbered extensively all over Gavin’s hands and jacket before it bounded over to Connor, performing the same enthusiastic routine. Connor stood there awkwardly for a moment, head tilted, before reaching out slowly towards him. A moment of panic flared in Gavin’s chest, and he snatched his hand out to pull Connor away. Who knew what would trip Connor’s murderbot protocols. It might think Cerberus was assaulting him and try to put him down.

“He’s much bouncier than Sumo,” Connor said.

Cerberus had, once Connor was dragged away, bolted further into the house and hurled himself onto the sofa further in. Gavin finally clicked the lights on, illuminating a glimpse of the living room through an entryway.

There were two other animals present. Two furry, striped animals lolling about on one of the bookshelves while Cerberus barked at them, having now lost immediate interest in Gavin.

“Lifty. Shifty. Sup,” Gavin grunted at the top of the bookshelf.

Connor’s LED was now a much brighter yellow, pulsing enough that it could have illuminated the house on its own.

“Detective Reed. Those are raccoons.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agreed. “What’s your point?”

Connor raised its hands, clearly struggling to think of a way to explain, before saying, “Should I ask how many pets you have?”

“None! Fuckin’ pay attention, dumbass.”

A flicker of red in the LED before it went back to pulsing yellow, and a slight scrunch of Connor’s eyebrows. Still with its hands raised, like it was carrying an invisible box, it said, “How many animal visitors do you have?”

Gavin retrieved his tablet from his bag, then tossed both it and his jacket on the sofa by Cerberus before pointing at him. “Don’t pee on my stuff! And fuck you, I didn’t bring you in here to fuckin’ judge me. ...Eleven. Maybe.”

Connor continued to look like it was struggling to update its processors, even as it stared at the two raccoons lolling on top of the shelf and ignoring Cerberus’ barking. As regular visitors to the house, they knew to stay up there until Cerberus got bored and left. Not every animal that came into Gavin’s house lasted—a couple had definitely gotten chewed up by the more regular visitors—but Gavin figured that was the circle of life or some shit. Any regulars like Lifty and Shifty were smarter ones who knew what was up.

“Wildlife is the cause of over ninety percent of all cases of rabies,” Connor finally said.

“Lifty and Shifty are fine! Sure, Bitey’s a bit of a dick about that--”

“Oh good, you named it ‘Bitey,’” Connor muttered under its breath. “Another raccoon?”

“No. Fuck no. Opossum.”

“I’m going to drop this topic now, as I don’t think I have the capacity to understand it,” Connor said.

“Dick. You’ve been here two minutes and you’re already fuckin’ judging me. I’m not dealing with this while eating. Red--”

“There’s no need for that!” Connor interrupted, holding its hands out quickly. “I can cook something for you. You can sit down, or prepare a presentation of your current mission. Or assist if you like, but that’s optional.”

Gavin squinted at Connor, debating the likelihood of Connor poisoning him. But, on further reflection, anything in the kitchen would probably taste like poison if it had the capacity. He might have to go to the hospital, but he probably wouldn’t die. He’d eaten weirder things as a teenager.

“Fuck it. Sure.” Gavin waved his hand dismissively. “Cook, do the android thing. Whatever.”

There was the faintest flicker of relief on Connor’s face, so quick that Gavin might have imagined it. Almost certainly imagined it. There wasn’t an alternative.

Gavin followed Connor into the kitchen, flopping down at the tiny table that was crammed in the corner. Two chairs, the other one usually occupied not by people but by one of the various animal visitors to Gavin’s house. Or Tina, who on occasion was just as feral. Connor opened the fridge, taking a long look inside it.

“...Detective, what exactly were you planning on eating?” Connor crouched, sticking its head further in. “Eggs… milk that expired two days ago…” Connor took the milk out, unscrewing the lid and moving for the sink.

“Hey, put that back!”

“Expired two days ago, Detective. The date is very clear--”

“Put it back! That’s a guideline!”

Connor rolled its eyes before putting the milk back. “Half a jar of relish and a bottle of… something labeled ‘Gym Juice.’ What was your meal plan?”

“Uh… I dunno, whatever was in a can. Beans?”

“You’re almost as bad as Hank,” Connor muttered, taking the eggs out of the fridge.

“I am not as bad as Hank until I’m consuming my body weight in alcohol,” Gavin snapped. Then he remembered what the original purpose of having Connor here was, and grinned. “Although, speaking of alcohol… so I got a guy.”

Connor had located a saucepan. It said nothing, but glanced back at Gavin and nodded slightly. Gavin clicked the tablet a few times, pulling up the relevant notes.

“Julian Marshall. Charged with drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter.” Gavin placed the tablet on the table, lounging back on the chair. “He got drunk as fuck, thought he could manually drive home and mowed down a pedestrian.”

“Punishable by up to twenty years and a significant fine,” Connor said, nodding a little as it used a fork to whisk the eggs into liquid. “Since you chose him, I assume that’s not the punishment he got.

“You calculated right, tin can. Good ol’ Marshall here got out of it by claiming in court that his car had been on autonomous and malfunctioned. CrowneCar paid a settlement. Marshall walked free. And he’s still drinking at that same bar every night.”

Connor’s mouth tightened a little thoughtfully as it poured the eggs into the pan. “Is he utilizing the same vehicle?”

“He got a new one after his ‘malfunctioned.’ As far as I can tell, he’s been driving with it on autonomous since then. But he’s still on the road and he’s still drunk as fuck. One day he’ll try to drive again, and there goes another father of two. Besides, he killed someone and walked free. That’s fucked up.”

Connor looked at Gavin and raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Oh, you know what I meant,” Gavin said exasperatedly. “At least my killing is directed.”

“Of course,” Connor said mildly. “Do you have a method for transporting and disposing of the body?”

“Once it’s all chopped into bits, sure. The real challenge is getting it on my slab.”

“...On your slab?” Connor asked slowly.

“Yeah, my… oh, you didn’t know about that bit? I have a slab--it’s kind of like your morgue slab but for living people--and I strap people to it and torture them.”

“Oh.” Connor prodded the eggs a little at the edges before asking, “Why?”

Gavin shrugged. “Because otherwise I have to murder more to get anything out of it.”

“Why? Also is that bad? I would think a larger amount of assassinations with quicker kills would be more efficient for reducing the crime rate.”

Gavin rubbed his forehead before groaning, “Do you want to get arrested?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s how you get arrested.”

“As opposed to torturing someone instead of slitting their throat quickly?”

“I’m careful! Mostly. Besides, what’s it matter? I got a location for it. Having the location means I can do whatever, and then we have a place to safely cut up the bodies before tossing them.”

“True. But torture is highly inefficient.”

“Are we doing things my way or aren’t we?” Gavin said, in a tone that totally was not whining.

“I suppose if it’s more efficient than working on my own, then I have no objections,” Connor said. With that, it folded up the omelet frying on the stove and rolled it onto a plate, before approaching and sliding it across the tiny dining table towards Gavin. It didn’t sit down afterwards, instead standing with its hands behind its back and waiting for Gavin to take a bite.

Gavin eyed it dubiously. There was steam coming off it, but weirdly no smell of eggs or anything… bakey. But he’d been watching Connor. He hadn’t seen the tin can put anything weird in it. So he picked up a fork, cut off a chunk and stuck it in his mouth.

...what the fuck.

“How does this have no flavour? How did you remove the flavour from eggs?” Gavin asked, mouth full of what just felt like eating solid air.

“I followed the recipe.”

“The fuck. Alright. No more cooking, that’s… wow, I’m impressed in the worst way.” Gavin waved his fork at Connor dismissively. “You stick with what you’re good at. Stick with killing people, and tell me… how the fuck do I get this guy, Inspector Gadget? Fire those processors.”

Connor crossed its arms, looking put-out at how dismissive Gavin was of its cooking. But a moment of consideration, and there was a slight upturn to the corners of its mouth. Barely noticeable.

“I can get him to any location you need him to be. Excuse me for a moment. I left something in your car.”

“What the fuck? You can’t even own things!” Gavin protested after it, but Connor was off before he was done speaking.

Gavin struggled through a couple more bites of omelet--it wasn’t even bad, exactly, just… disconcertingly flavourless--before Connor returned, holding a neat, folded stack of clothing. It placed them on the table beside the omelet, before heading back to the kitchen counter.

“I don’t want more food,” Gavin groaned.

“I’m not getting you more food,” Connor said calmly, as it reached for a wooden block at the corner of the kitchen counters and drew the sharpest knife available. Gavin’s immediate response was to draw his handgun.

“Oh, I fucking knew this was a trap! Put it down, asshole! Gun beats knife!”

Connor looked at Gavin for a moment, tilting its head. “...Not at this range, necessarily. Calm down, Detective. I’m not going to stab you.”

Gavin squinted a little before he lowered his gun and placed it on the table.

“Then what the fuck are you--HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!”

Gavin stood up quickly as Connor jammed the tip of the knife under its LED, pulsing a calm blue, before prying it loose. It came out disturbingly easily, leaving only a white splotch on the side of Connor’s head that quickly healed up. Connor placed the LED on the counter.

“I’ll need that back later. I know how to reattach it,” Connor said.

“Those just come out?!” Gavin squeaked loudly.

Man, he was going to have to rag on Elijah for that later.

“Yes. They’re more difficult to attach than remove, but I’m familiar with the process,” Connor said, as it removed its jacket, folding it neatly before placing it on the table by the bundle of clothes. “Android branding does, by its nature, stand out more than what is useful during a covert activity.”

Connor undid its tie with a quick yank before moving to unbutton its shirt, getting that far before Gavin processed what he was doing.

“Not in my kitchen!” Gavin bellowed. “Privacy! Fucking privacy, how many times do we have to have this conversation? At least buy me dinner first, for fuck’s sake, don’t just strip down here!”

Connor didn’t stop, still undoing the buttons quickly. “But you rejected my cooking.”

“It’s a figure of speech, you fucking--” Gavin slapped his hands over his eyes before Connor could remove its shirt, or god forbid anything else.

Whatever extent he’d agreed to accept Connor into his hobby, he was not going to be ogling the tin can while it was naked. There was to be no lusting over plastic, or he might as well just buy a sexbot over the internet. He’d be one step away from, god forbid, just turning into Elijah. Or at least, that’s what Gavin assumed was with the army of hot robot blondes milling about his house.

He sensed movement, as Connor picked up the wad of clothing it had brought into the room, and heard some more rustling.

“I am fully clothed again,” Connor said helpfully after some time.

Gavin uncovered his eyes to see Connor halfway through pulling on an oversized hoodie, grey-blue in colour. He couldn’t see Connor’s face, the hoodie over it as it struggled to navigate the garment, so instead he eyed the clothes. Connor hadn’t actually changed out its jeans, but had traded the sturdy shoes for some worn sneakers, bright red and white but covered in scruff marks. The collared shirt had similarly been traded out for a plain white t-shirt, also a little too big on Connor. As Connor finally yanked the hoodie down, revealing a basketball logo that made Gavin suspect that the hoodie had been ‘borrowed’ from Hank, it picked up one final piece left on the table. Before Connor put it on, it wrinkled its nose like it was concentrating. Its hair rippled slightly, going from dark brown to a sandy blond, that dumb wisp of hair getting curlier. Once that was done, it placed the set of glasses--large lenses with thicker rims, either nerdy or hipster-associated depending on the time period--on its face and gave a quick spin.

“Do I look sufficiently human?” Connor asked.

It was still possible to see Connor underneath it all, but the combination of the casual clothes, messier hair and glasses did indeed make Connor look more like a nerdy college student. Albeit the face and the curls were just a bit too pretty for that.

...Goddammit, he really was becoming Elijah.

“You look even twinkier than normal,” Gavin said snidely.

“Twinkier?” Connor stared at him for a moment, and even though the LED wasn’t in Gavin could practically see it glowing yellow. “...A small finger-shaped sponge cake with a synthetic cream filling.”

“No, not--”

“Ohhh.” Connor reached up, curling one finger around that bit of flyaway hair before letting it spring back into place. “Is it because I’m blond now?”

“Not that kind of--ugh, nevermind. Gay slang can wait.” Gavin tilted his head, the back of his mind feeling a sense of deja vu until finally it clicked. “...I’ve seen this outfit before.” He looked back at Connor’s face. “Pull the hood up for a second.”

Connor obeyed, and at the same time took a step back to lean against Gavin’s fridge, face largely shielded from view due to the combination of the hoodie, glasses and hair.

“Oh, you motherfucker, I saw you! Outside the Hole!”

“You nearly walked into me. I’d advise looking at where you were going,” Connor said cheerfully.

“Don’t fuckin’ stand in my way, asshole.”

“Very well. I’ll wait for you in the car, then.” With that, Connor walked out of the kitchen.

“Wait for--hey, where the fuck are you going?!” Gavin yelled, pushing back on his chair so he could see Connor through the doorway out of the kitchen.

Connor paused, halfway to the front door. “To trap Mr. Marshall and transport him to your preferred murder location. Obviously.”

“...Right now? We don’t have a fucking plan! I’m not prepped at the house!” Gavin lifted the bowl of half-finished omelet. “And I’m eating!”

“That’s not a problem, Detective Reed. I have accounted for that in my calculations. You may finish the omelet in the car.” With that, Connor left the house.

“Oh god, we’re gonna fucking die,” Gavin muttered under his breath. He considered the eggs for a moment longer before leaving them behind to hurry after Connor, confident that Cerberus would probably eat them before he got back.

* * *

They got out of the car a block away from the dive that the victim spent each evening in. Connor was walking slightly ahead, looking real fucking sure of itself. There was still something stilted and robotic in how it walked, the only giveaway to its plastic nature. Gavin hoped it was just because he was paying more attention, because he didn’t know what would happen if someone else noticed.

Connor only stopped once they reached the edge of the little parking lot bordering the bar, which had been given the flattering name of ‘Rust Bucket.’ Despite that name, this parking lot was at least clean of everything but more recent trash, unlike the Hole. The neon sign of the bar flickered, but in a steady way that suggested it was intentional.

“I’ll only need half an hour,” Connor said. “Could you order the drinks so that we blend in? I don’t have any money.”

“Who said I’m coming in with you?” Gavin asked, eyeing the building. His half-baked plan, as they’d driven there, had been to let Connor plow ahead and see if it got itself killed.

“I am not good at blending into bars. I cannot get drunk and Hank has informed me that my sports-related conversation topics are inadequate,” Connor said. “I can perform the requisite actions but I’ll require the location that you want to send him to.”

“It’s pretty fuckin’ far. We’re not getting him there without knocking him out first.”

“I disagree.”

“I didn’t even show you a picture.

“I don’t need one.”

Connor spoke with the utter confidence of someone who didn’t believe it could be wrong. It made Gavin wonder if, perhaps, Connor actually did have a foolproof plan.

Fuck it, he was already this far in.

One address later, and Connor beelined for the entrance to the bar. Gavin on its heels, trying to squash his racing heartbeat. Much like many bars in the area, there was a ‘No Androids’ sign on the door. Gavin couldn’t help but imagine the bartender pointing at Connor and declaring it a plastic hunk of junk, making such an obvious scene that anyone would remember they’d been here when Julian Marshall went missing

The Rust Bucket, unlike the Hole, wasn’t actually grimy at all but had that aesthetic that made you think of rust and grunge in a fun kind of way. Lots of unpolished wood, and seemingly polaroid photos were crammed onto many of the walls, although closer inspection showed blinking elements or that holographic distortion that was a tip-off of more recent technology.

There was a decent amount of patrons. Gavin took a moment to spot their guy, sitting in a more crowded booth with a few other men. Julian Marshall was middle-aged, with the shadow of good looks that had worn away after a lifetime of alcohol abuse. Those looks had been exchanged for an extra twenty years of age and a straining beer gut underneath a shirt of surprisingly good quality, one that Gavin was already considering the right colour thread to embroider on. Marshall looked like he was in a good mood and popular with the crowd he was hanging around, clearly telling some kind of story judging by how his hands were waving around.

God, Gavin hated it when they had a lot of friends. It was much harder to get them alone and meant more questions when they vanished.

The bartender, upon seeing them approach, did not zone in on Connor and declare it an android. He simply put down his dishcloth and waited expectantly for any orders that might come his way. Connor, similarly, then turned and looked expectantly at Gavin.

“Hey. You got kahlua? Yeah, give me that over the rocks,” Gavin said. “And get--” He almost said it, and last minute corrected himself. “--him a, uh… the fuck do you want?”

“Black Lamb scotch. Neat. Make it a double,” Connor said. It hadn’t changed its voice, but the cadence was a little gruffer and reminded him of Hank.

Gavin grimaced and rolled his eyes even as he retrieved his wallet to pay the guy. Connor couldn’t even drink and he was ordering the expensive shit. Asshole. He worried for a moment about the bartender asking for ID from Connor, given its fairly youthful appearance, but if there was one flaw this bar had it was shit safety regulations. Part of why it was a haven for their drunk driver.

When Gavin turned around to hand Connor the drink it couldn’t enjoy, he found that Connor was already halfway across the room. Not even heading in the same direction as Marshall, but towards a pool table at one end of the bar.

“No,” Gavin groaned.

Connor looked back at him, eyebrows scrunched together slightly behind those dorky glasses. “Why not?”

“We’re… we’re not here to play pool, dipshit.”

“No. But we can. It won’t cause any problems.” Connor picked up one of the pool cues, testing the weight of it in its hands.

“Do you even know how to play?”

Connor blinked rapidly a few times before it cheerfully said, “I do now.”

“No. No, fuckin’... no.”

“If you insist, Detective Reed.” Connor made to put the pool cue down. “It would be unfair to you anyway. You wouldn’t be able to beat me.”

“Oh, motherfucker, it’s on. Gimme that cue!” Gavin reached out and snatched the cue from Connor’s hands, only realising that Connor had been holding it out to him from the moment that it denounced Gavin’s skills. “...You son of a bitch, you think I can’t see your tricks?”

Connor tilted its head slightly, giving Gavin a supposedly innocent look. “You could always say no.”

“Fuck you.”

As Connor started rearranging the balls back into a triangle, Gavin glanced over at Marshall and his friends. Connor glanced over as well, its eyes lingering on Marshall’s face immediately despite Gavin’s lack of indication that there was their guy. Connor’s expression, a little smug after tricking Gavin into playing pool with it, had an oddly intense look to it for a moment. Blank around everything but the eyes, which were wholly focused on their target. Then it turned away, putting its back to Marshall, before finishing rearranging the balls and picking up a second pool cue.

“Are we gonna--” Gavin paused, before nodding his head very slightly in Marshall’s direction.

“I only need half an hour,” Connor repeated, before nodding at the balls. “Would you like to break, Detective?”

Gavin stuck his tongue out before lining up his shot and hoping that he remembered how to play the game, having not touched it since college. The break sunk one of the solid balls, and Gavin got one more in before he had to back off and let Connor have his turn.

“What’s your fascination with pool, anyway?”

“It’s a good game for calibrating--”

“Dude, do you want people to know you’re--” Gavin cut off before tapping the side of his head with the pool cue. “Don’t fuckin’ say ‘calibrating' in here.”

“You asked, Detective.” Connor sunk one of the striped balls before walking around the table. “It’s a physics-centric game. It’s interesting.”

“You’re a fucking nerd. No wonder you picked that look.”

Connor leaned down to line up his next shot. As it did so, it glanced at Gavin and stuck out its tongue in the exact manner that Gavin had a minute ago, before sinking one more ball. Its next shot, however, glided just barely past the ball Connor had been aiming for.

“Calibrations off, nerd?” Gavin asked, grinning.

“No. Your turn.”

“I know it’s my turn, I know the damn rules.” Under his breath Gavin added, “And I didn’t have to google them.”

As they continued to play, Gavin waited for Connor to eventually tip him off as to what his plan was. But Connor didn’t even glance in Marshall’s direction. It continued to remain wholly focused on their game of pool.

It also became a very solid pattern of how the shots went. Gavin would take his turn. Then Connor would take his, and sink the precise amount of balls that Gavin did, in perfectly calculated shots, before performing an abysmal one and taking a step back. It was such a pattern that Gavin wondered if Connor had downloaded the wrong set of rules.

“Eight ball, the corner pocket over there,” Gavin said, once only the eight ball and two striped balls remained on the table.

Connor nodded slightly, leaning on the pool cue slightly as it watched Gavin line his shot up. A stance that was slightly more relaxed than its usual one. Combined with the more rustic lighting throwing warmer tones over it, emphasizing the lack of those cold, blue lights that android branding consisted of, it made it look more human than ever.

Gavin hit the eight-ball, and it went completely askew from his intended aim, bouncing about the table before sinking in the opposite corner.

“Fuck!”

“That’s a forfeit,” Connor said brightly. “Best two out of three?”

“Shut up,” Gavin groaned. After a moment of fiddling with the pool cue, glaring at where he’d sunk the eight-ball, he muttered, “Best two out of three.”

And on they continued, with Connor once again returning to its pattern of matching Gavin point-for-point. As Connor leaned forward to make its next shot--this one would be one of the abysmal ones--Gavin sipped at his glass of kahlua, occasionally glancing around the bar.

He wondered what would happen if someone from work saw them. If Hank stumbled in here. Gavin would bet his fuckin’ bottom dollar that he hung out in these sort of bars--there was a rustic vibe to the architecture that would mix well with Hank’s tendency towards heavy metal--and if he did, Hank would recognise Connor for sure. Especially if that was his hoodie.

Realistically, the likelihood of Hank being in this bar was low. But it didn’t stop Gavin thinking about it.

Sometimes a bout of laughter or loud discussion would break the air, and Gavin would glance over to see their target talking, or drinking, or laughing. The lack of care of a man who didn’t give a shit about anything he’d done. During Gavin’s covert glances over, he saw Marshall have another three beers and go from buzzed to clearly tipsy and heading down the road to drunk as all fuck.

And yet Connor continued to do nothing except play pool.

Nothing changed until twenty-eight minutes after their arrival. At this point, they both had three balls left on the table.

Connor was leaning slightly on the cue watching Gavin line up a shot. Abruptly it straightened up slightly and picked up its glass of Black Lamb, completely untouched since Gavin put it down when they’d started playing.

Gavin blamed this sudden odd behavior seconds later for his own distraction, when he accidentally sunk the cue ball.

“Goddammit,” he hissed through his teeth before straightening up and looking at Connor. “The fuck’s up with you?”

Connor said nothing. Instead, it raised the drink and slammed the double shot back like it’d been drinking Hank-like amounts all its life. It placed the glass down firmly again before taking a few paces to its left, taking no time at all to line up its shot.

The cue ball went streaking across the table, rebounding off the wood several times but always just missing the holes, and hitting every remaining striped ball on the way. All three were sunk.

“Eight ball… middle-left pocket,” Connor said, gesturing with its pool cue at the relevant pocket of the table before leaning down to line the shot up.

It gave Gavin a glance, then its mouth twitched up at the side as it switched angles at the last minute and hit the cue ball. The ball collided twice with the wood, just barely missing another pocket, before hitting the 8 ball squarely into the middle-left pocket. Connor, by the time it was sunk, was already putting the cue down, not even watching it land.

“I win. Let’s go,” Connor said.

“Were you just fucking with me that whole time? Also, what?” Gavin stared at the pool table for a moment longer, before putting his cue down and hurrying after Connor. Glancing back as they left at Marshall, who was halfway through his fourth beer since they’d gotten there.

Connor took three steps outside the Rust Bucket and glanced around, then changed directions slightly to wander to the other side of the parking lot. A direction that would take them the long way around back to the car.

“Where the hell are you going?” Gavin snapped.

Connor glanced back at Gavin, slowing down its footsteps before stopping. It leaned against the car it was closest to, resting its hands against the shiny surface as it smiled slightly at Gavin.

“That’s up to you, Detective. The rest of the night is free.”

“The hell are you talking about? I thought we were here to, you know…” Gavin gestured back at the bar, where Marshall was still sitting obliviously inside. “Do something?”

“What were you expecting?” Connor asked, tilting its head. Those curly blond strands of hair kept catching the light of the nearby streetlamp, and Gavin was finding it a little distracting. “Were you expecting me to approach and make myself known to the target?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I was expecting something that’d get us, you know… closer?”

“I did. I needed half an hour. I got my half an hour. Tomorrow night between midnight and two am, you’ll have what you wanted.” Connor pushed itself off the car and continued walking away, leaving the parking lot.

“What?!” Gavin’s voice squeaked, before he chased after Connor again. “God, you’re worse than Elijah.”

Connor continued to walk in silence as they took the long way around, bright lights interspersed with deep shadows, few people lingering on the streets and instead holing up in the various bars and diners. There was no-one in sight once they reached Gavin’s car.

As soon as they reached the car, Connor walked around to the driver’s side with a quick glance around, making sure the car was providing adequate cover, before holding its hand out towards Gavin. A hologram flickered to life above the outstretched hand, absolutely shattering its human facade.

Camera footage. The very parking lot that they’d just gone through.

“Security footage of the parking lot. An entire week’s worth,” Connor said.

The clip sped up, then paused. The victim was on screen, climbing out of a shiny car, the latest in autonomous technology.

“Each week, the victim arrives between 5 and 5:30pm.”

The clip fast forwards again, then pauses on the victim again. This time leaving the bar, clearly unable to keep his balance.

“The time he leaves varies between 11pm and 1am, but each time he is always severely inebriated. Often he takes several attempts to be able to get his car open.”

As the footage played of the man attempting to unlock his car, dropping his keys twice in the process, Gavin squinted at the vehicle. It was familiar.

“Isn’t that--”

Connor closed the hand projecting the hologram, dismissing it, before leaning on Gavin’s car in the same manner as it had leaned on the shiny car in the Rust Bucket’s parking lot. This time, Gavin had an angle that let him see Connor’s skin peel away into white plastic as they rested against the car, and he heard the click of his door unlocking.

“Motherfucker, what did I tell you about--” The implications caught up. Gavin paused for a moment before his face lit up. “Oh, you crafty son of a bitch.”

“I reprogrammed his car on the way out. When the time ticks over to 6pm tomorrow, the autonomous programming will replace his home address with that of the location you gave me. He’ll be so drunk that he won’t even notice his car is taking him right to us.”

Gavin only managed to restrain himself for a few seconds before a snort escaped him. He covered his mouth for a moment, shoulders shaking, before erupting into laughter.

“Oh man, that’s fucking great! That’s so great,” he wheezed, leaning against the car as he wrestled with trying to keep his laughter under control, or at least regaining his breath. “That’s just… oh man.” He laughed for another ten seconds before managing to decrease it into occasional wheezes. “Fucking automatic victim delivery. Fucking genius.”

He reached out and grabbed Connor by the shoulders. There was a moment of surprise, possibly even panic, that flickered across Connor’s features before it returned to its usual blank state.

“You… are a fucking genius, tin can,” Gavin said, shaking him slightly by the shoulders.

“I know,” Connor said. In a very slightly smug tone it added, “I’m very advanced.”

“Sure fucking are.” Gavin grinned. Then he realised he was still holding the tin can’s shoulders and let go quickly, like he’d catch robo-cooties from touching it for too long. He coughed once before trying to crush his voice back into his usual grumpy tone. “Well, uh… anyway. Guess you’re not totally useless.”

Gavin climbed into the now unlocked car. Connor went around and climbed into the passenger seat. As Gavin started the car up, Connor covered its mouth.

“Do you have a paper cup? Or a similar receptacle?” Connor asked.

Gavin raised his eyebrows before retrieving an old soda cup from the floor of the car and holding it out. Connor took it, promptly opened its mouth and ejected the double of Black Lamb that it’d consumed at the bar in a manner similar to that of the soda machine that had originally filled that cup.

“Can’t believe you ordered the expensive shit only to do that,” Gavin sighed.

“It’s still drinkable. I kept it in a sterile container.”

“Ew, no.”

“What are you doing now, Detective?”

“Shops. I need some shit for tomorrow.” Gavin looked at the soda cup, with its double shot of scotch, and said, “Maybe I can use that. But I’m gonna need a lot more booze.” He set his GPS for the location of the nearest liquor store.

He was going to need some things to make tomorrow a night to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a doodle of Connor in his Human Disguise, plus a pool cue.
>
>> [View post on imgur.com](https://imgur.com/ww0Rmu7)  
> 


	5. 07SEP38 - Vehicular Manslaughter, Father of Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin finally gets his victim into his basement, only to have Connor's idea of efficiency get in the way of what he really wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long because I merged what was going to be Chapters 5 and 6 together (which is also why the chapter count has been reduced.)

Gavin slept slightly better than the previous night, getting in an hour or two, but there was a lot of tossing and turning. This time it was the good kind. The excitement of a small child knowing Christmas was just around the corner. The excitement of a kill being so close that he could practically taste it, coppery and thick.

He was alone in the house. Connor had returned with him only long enough to reinstall its LED and change back into its uniform. Its human disguise had been left in a folded pile at the bottom of Gavin’s closet, Connor insisting that it was safer to keep there since it didn’t have any approved places to store its belongings.

“Androids don’t have belongings,” it had pointed out

So Gavin was left alone, actually using his bed instead of sprawling out over the floor and spending more time looking at the ceiling than actually sleeping.

Work was a struggle once he got there. Admittedly, the lack of sleep was not helping, nor was the excitement of the upcoming kill. Gavin stared blankly at his computer screen and wondered if Fowler would take this slipping to think that, perhaps, working with Connor was somehow slowing him down.

That’d be an issue. The chunk of plastic knew too much at this point. And if nothing else, Connor was useful. Gavin’s major source of joy for the day was recalling the irony of the drunk driver being betrayed by his car. He occasionally couldn’t stop himself from grinning, prompting at least one comment from Officer Brown that ‘oh shit, you can smile?’

The response had been a middle finger. But a cheerful one.

He managed to struggle through the day. Once he was done, it was nearing 7:30pm. Still plenty of time to prepare the house and the basement for his guest.

Connor had appeared an hour ago to hand Hank a report, and had not left the bullpen since. Instead, it was leaning over Hank’s shoulder and peering at the computer screen while it and Hank argued about the details of Hank’s current case.

Gavin watched them argue for a minute, stretching his arms over his head and trying to work the cricks out of his back, before calling out.

“Hey, tin can! I’m done with this dump for the day, you gonna come help me or what? Need a fucking change of scenery.”

Connor looked away from the computer screen. So did Hank, albeit with a significantly more surly expression.

“Kind of in the middle of something, Reed!” Hank snapped.

“I have to prioritize any official tasks first,” Connor said. “It won’t take long. Hank and I are on the edge of a breakthrough.”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Gavin said sarcastically, climbing out of his chair and making his way over, winding around another officer who was trying to note down evidence at the table in between their desks and getting clearly annoyed at people yelling past him. “I should have figured that Lieutenant Has-Been can’t figure out one fucking case on his own.”

“What’s your excuse, Reed? Peaked too soon?”

“Don’t you have a bar to get to? Jimmy’s might go out of business if you don’t show up,” Gavin sneered, leaning over the desk.

“I’m the one putting him out of business? Not you smashing up the place after challenging people to fights in his fucking bathrooms?” With that, Hank pushed his keyboard back and stood up to tower over Gavin. “Reed, I’m busy. Connor doesn’t belong to you. Keep the fuck out of our faces.”

“Oh yeah?” Despite Hank’s bigger size, Gavin took another step forward. “Or else what?”

“I know where the address is,” Connor said quietly.   


“Or else fuck you, is what,” Hank growled.

“What the fuck is going on out there?”

Fowler had left his office, and was now leaning on the railings in order to glare at both of them.

“Detective Reed, shut the fuck up and let Hank work. He needs the android more than you, so either calm down and wait, or leave and let him get on with it. Just because I let you take Connor out of the precinct sometimes doesn’t mean you own it. It’s DPD property.”

Hank’s mouth tightened a little at those words and he shifted angrily on his feet, but didn’t say anything.

“Got it?” Fowler finished, staring hard at Gavin.

“Crystal clear,” Gavin said through gritted teeth.

“Then shut the hell up and stop yelling in the middle of my bullpen. Both of you!” With that, Fowler headed back into his office. Muttering under his breath about overgrown toddlers.

“I’ll catch up, Detective Reed,” Connor said politely, like there’d been no argument at all.

Gavin glared at Hank for one more moment, while Hank did the same to him. Then Gavin reached out for Hank’s desk and swiped the last donut from the box on his desk. He licked it, then put it back in the box.

“Real fucking mature, Reed,” Hank said, breaking the glare in order to roll his eyes. He picked up the donut and, without even an attempt to wipe it off, shoved it in his mouth.

“Gross,” Gavin groaned.

“What? It’s a fuckin’ donut, it’s delicious. I don’t care what you’ve done to it.”

“Remind me to piss on it next time, then. Whatever. I’m out.” Gavin glanced over at Connor. “Catch up when you’re done, asshole.”

“Of course, Detective,” Connor said. Gavin left while stomping his feet somewhat louder than necessary.

* * *

> **> OBJECTIVE: ASSIST LT. ANDERSON**
> 
> **> ** **REVIEW EVIDENCE**
> 
> **> EXAMINE CAMERA FOOTAGE**

  
  


“There.”

Connor froze the security camera footage, hand resting against Hank’s computer as it brought up a second clip from a nearby camera.

“There’s proof that the footage was tampered with. The suspect vanishes here and doesn’t reappear there, and there’s nowhere they could have gone in between the two cameras. It would have had to be done from within the building, so if you check their scheduling and find out who was on watch--”

“Then I’ll find whoever was fucking with it. Great.” Hank typed a few notes down. “Alright. That’s something to go on, then. Good job, Connor. I fucking hate syncing up these clips.”

  
  


> **< OBJECTIVE COMPLETE>**
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> **< ANALYZING OBJECTIVES...**
> 
> **SELECTING PRIORITY… >**

  
  


Connor smiled slightly. “It wasn’t a problem, Lieutenant. It gives me more to do.”

“Well, five minutes of work for you versus two hours for me. I don’t know why the others are so anal about letting you assist,” Hank said.

Connor shrugged. “Experimental, flawed technology in a police case isn’t usually advised. I understand.”

> **< ANALYSIS COMPLETE>**
> 
> **> OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED**
> 
> **> TRAVEL TO THE LOCATION**
> 
> **> DISPOSE OF BODY**
> 
> **> DISPOSE OF VEHICLE**

“I have other objectives to get to. Have a nice evening, Lieutenant.”

Connor straightened up and turned to leave. Before it could, a hand grasped its wrist.

That grip sent a warning through Connor’s system, but a warning that tailed off without giving Connor any details about why it should be concerned. Connor froze for a moment. Brief enough that a human wouldn’t notice, but that seemed a lengthy, unacceptable glitch from its perspective.

> **< WAR̸̺̪̭̳̓͌͒̊̿̎̚̚͢͠NING>**
> 
> **< ̡̮̝̞̟̮̘̔͗̈́͋͐͒̾̿͜͝CYBEȐ̶̪̤̼̰̲͎̔͗͌̓̅͑̈́͒LIFE̡̛̫̣̫̖͖̝̫͇̜̓̿͊̐͊ DE̵͚͓̜͎͔͇̯̽͒̉͝͠FE̞̙͇͓̣̍̉̈͝͠NDEŖ͉̙͎̞̬̯̜̞͐̉́͐̓̂̎̊̎̚ V.R̵̡̢̞̠̞̋̓̂̈́̐̉̄͐͟͟͡͝Ķ̶̢͓̙̟͕̱̳̦̭̋̎̍̓͑̂̆8 PR̖͈̖̼̃̔̃͒̕͢͠Ē̢̢̜̬̮̯͎̦̾͆̈́VE̴̡͓͓̮͓̫͋͐͋̆͛NTE̷͉͍̘̘̙̔̌̓͠D AN UNR̵̯͎͉̱͔͍̟̩͇̓́̅̒͢͠E̟̥̫̞̟͆̿̎͆̄̒͂̚͜C̵͇͓͔̟̝̜͇̭͗͛̉̄͆̔̅̇͠OGNIZE̖͍̥̝͕͕͕̫͊̾̑̌̾̈͋͡D CONNĘ̨̺̮̔͋͊͌̆̔ͅCTION>**
> 
> **< CYBEȐ̶̪̤̼̰̲͎̔͗͌̓̅͑̈́͒LIFE̡̛̫̣̫̖͖̝̫͇̜̓̿͊̐͊ DE̵͚͓̜͎͔͇̯̽͒̉͝͠FE̞̙͇͓̣̍̉̈͝͠NDEŖ͉̙͎̞̬̯̜̞͐̉́͐̓̂̎̊̎̚ V.R̵̡̢̞̠̞̋̓̂̈́̐̉̄͐͟͟͡͝Ķ̶̢͓̙̟͕̱̳̦̭̋̎̍̓͑̂̆8 OVÊ̶̱̯̫̪̇̐̿̾͢͟ͅR̛͕̭̹̜̣͖̀̽̐̂̀̐͑͋̕R̻̫̘̲̘͇̘̈́͐̈͗̿͠IDDȨ̴͔̥̻͇̳͍̙̍͛́̓͝N>**
> 
> **< CONNE̶̺͉̬̟͖̰̐̉̄̂̔͛͗͂ͅCTION Ē̸͖̰̞̬̤̅̆͑̆͋͐̚͝STABLISHĖ̛̱̹̺͚̜̪̗̯̈́͗̀̈́͝͝ͅD>**
> 
> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
  


“Hold on. I need to talk to you,” Hank said, still gripping its wrist.

Connor dismissed the warning, turning back towards Hank.

“What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, tucking its hands behind its back the moment that Hank released its wrist. “Have I been unsatisfactory in some way? I’m open to criticism. I understand that I have flaws in my programming--”

“No, no, no. Fuck no,” Hank said, rubbing his face for a moment. “You don’t have to be perfect, it’s not about that.” He leaned on the back of his chair, eyeing Connor. “You’re hanging out a lot with Reed lately.”

“I’m assisting Detective Reed with his cases,” Connor said brightly.

“Yeah, I get what you’re doing. But three days ago he refused to go anywhere near you. Now he’s getting mad the moment you’re not with him.”

Connor tilted its head, looking mildly puzzled. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Is he hurting you?”

“Why would you think that?” Connor asked slowly, hands shifting slightly behind its back. Rubbing the wrist that Hank had just grasped.

“Because it’s Reed!” Hank tossed his hands in the air irritably. “Asshole’s never been able to keep his temper under control. Why the fuck do you think no-one’ll promote him? He’s stubborn and bad-tempered and he fucking hates androids. Do you know how many fights that guy gets into off the clock? A lot! He’s a violent prick, and that’s with people who can report his ass.”

“Detective Reed is an irritable man,” Connor agreed, nodding slightly. “But androids don’t feel pain, Lieutenant. Nor has Reed caused any damage.”

Well, there was yesterday’s incident. An hour and a half of deactivation, as well as--

  
  


> **̷̡̛̝̣̳̜̞̄̓̌̽ <̡̮̝̞̟̮̘̔͗̈́͋͐͒̾̿͜͝CYBEȐ̶̪̤̼̰̲͎̔͗͌̓̅͑̈́͒LIFE̡̛̫̣̫̖͖̝̫͇̜̓̿͊̐͊ DE̵͚͓̜͎͔͇̯̽͒̉͝͠FE̞̙͇͓̣̍̉̈͝͠NDEŖ͉̙͎̞̬̯̜̞͐̉́͐̓̂̎̊̎̚ V.R̵̡̢̞̠̞̋̓̂̈́̐̉̄͐͟͟͡͝Ķ̶̢͓̙̟͕̱̳̦̭̋̎̍̓͑̂̆8 OVÊ̶̱̯̫̪̇̐̿̾͢͟ͅR̛͕̭̹̜̣͖̀̽̐̂̀̐͑͋̕R̻̫̘̲̘͇̘̈́͐̈͗̿͠IDDȨ̴͔̥̻͇̳͍̙̍͛́̓͝N>̴͇̖̮̱̦͋̓͊̉̔͐͛**
> 
> **̸̡͎͙̜͉͌͑͗͋͠ <̶̡̫͕̗͉̗̹͇̌͐̈́͆͌̉͞͡CONNE̶̺͉̬̟͖̰̐̉̄̂̔͛͗͂ͅCTION Ē̸͖̰̞̬̤̅̆͑̆͋͐̚͝STABLISHĖ̛̱̹̺͚̜̪̗̯̈́͗̀̈́͝͝ͅD≯̛̟͎̙̮̥̱͖͈̒̑̿̚͢͢͝**

  
  


But that was not damage. Connor had evaluated its systems and found no evidence of tampering. Just examination.

“Jesus Christ, that’s really not a reassuring way to phrase it. Has he been messing with you in any way, then?” Hank asked, voice low. Connor was used to reading Hank’s expressions by now, and he recognised the same expression that Hank often wore when talking to a victim of a crime. “Because I don’t trust that asshole to be treating you well. No-one changes that quick. Are you alright with whatever he’s doing?”

Connor lagged 1.2 seconds longer than it should have when giving a response.

“Detective Reed’s treatment is adequate,” it said.

Hank stared at it for a long moment, the concern giving way to obvious disbelief in how he wrinkled its nose, how his mouth twisted. Then he stood up.

“Fine. Whatever. Sorry I asked,” he muttered.

He pushed the report Connor had given him aside, leaving it on his desk as he started to head out of the precinct.

“Your report, Lieutenant--”

“I’ll finish up tomorrow!” Hank interrupted. “Can’t go interview them right now anyway, and Jimmy has a bottle of whiskey with my name on it.” Hank took a few more steps out, then came to a halt. Hesitated before turning around. “Would you even tell me if something was wrong?”

“If something was getting in the way of my mission--”

“Fuck your damn mission, Connor. You know what I meant!”

“If nothing is interfering with my mission, then nothing is wrong,” Connor said flatly.

Hank nodded slightly, eyes looking down. He looked tired for a moment, before glaring at Connor.

“Fuck you too, then.”

Hank left, footsteps thundering in a similar way as Detective Reed. Leaving Connor standing by his desk, head tilted and wondering what exactly it had done wrong this time.

* * *

Gavin only stopped at home to pick up the supplies and to check what animals had settled in his house for the day. This time it was one of the five usual cats. A mangy, goblin-like animal that Gavin called Diva, for a reason that was obvious within two seconds of interacting with her. She was the most attention-seeking animal of all those who visited Gavin’s house, and what was originally meant to be a brief visit turned into forty-five minutes of scratching Diva while she made annoyed screeches every time he tried to leave to do something else. Finally, he was allowed to leave once Diva, in true cat fashion, abruptly decided she was tired with him and swiped at his hand to make him fuck off.

With his home taken care of, Gavin tossed his bag of supplies into the back seat of his car, climbed into the front and drove for the house. Manually, despite his lack of sleep. He didn’t ever dial the location of this house into the autonomous system.

Honestly, his murder house was in some ways a lot nicer than his real house. This one, Kamski had picked for several different reasons. It was in one of the more abandoned parts of Detroit, where half the houses were falling apart. Too out of the way for even the homeless population of Detroit to bother with. There were others that lived nearby, but most of them were reclusive and preferred privacy, and the houses closest to Gavin’s were abandoned or had collapsed.

Despite the derelict location, the house itself was rather nice. Small, with a nice green and white paint job and a little verandah with a rocking chair on it. A perfect location to sit and stare at the copious amount of weeds threading through the surrounding blocks. The lack of maintenance on the garden blended with the area.

The door was locked when Gavin got there--both electronically and with a manual key. Despite this, he was not surprised when, upon fiddling with his keys, the door opened before he’d had the chance to touch the lock.   


“Evening, Detective Reed,” Connor said, holding the door open for him.

“For fuck’s sake,” Gavin sighed.

“I know. Privacy.” Connor stepped to the side so that Gavin could properly enter.

“Maybe one day it’ll fucking stick. How’d you even get in?”

“I’m very advanced.”

Gavin rolled his eyes, knapsack slung over his shoulder, as Connor shut the door behind them. They both entered into the living room. It was a plain room, and anyone with eyes and half a brain would notice the lack of personal effects. It had the basics—a sofa, a television, some shelves, etc—but there were no photos, no stains, no signs of a life lived. Not even any unusual smells, contrasting with Gavin’s actual home that always smelt a little bit like wet dog and coffee beans.

Most of this house was sparsely furnished only so that anyone who happened to glance into the window or through the front door would assume someone lived here, but really Gavin only bothered with the basement and the garage. It was something that annoyed him a little. Gavin could see the lack of life as clear as day, and would note the same if he came across a similar place in his day-to-day work. Yet he’d never bothered fixing it.

“What time is--”

“9:41pm,” Connor finished. “We have, at minimum, two hours and nineteen minutes before Julian Marshall arrives.”

“You poke around in the basement yet?”

“No. It seemed rude.”

“And breaking into my house isn’t?!”

Connor shrugged, gesturing at its uniform. “This stands out. I thought being indoors would be less conspicuous.”

“Ugh, whatever, I don’t care. Come on, asshole.” Gavin headed for the basement, Connor falling into perfect step behind him. “I gotta set up. You can have a look around so you’ll know what we’re gonna do. How to clean up. So on and so forth.”

He spent some time unlocking the door to the basement, wondering if Connor could have broken in by itself. Maybe he’d ask later, but he still didn’t want to give Connor any ideas about ratting him out.

The basement smelt like cleaning detergent and lavender. It smelt like the morgue. No sign of the arsonist that Gavin had killed two weeks ago.

“You did well cleaning up. The evidence is minimal,” Connor said. Its eyes were lingering on spots of the room that looked clean to Gavin. “I can fix this once you’re done.”

“Hoo-fucking-rah. Forget about it right now. Right now we’re getting to the fun shit.” Gavin put his bag down near the slab in the center of the room before beelining for one of the cabinets.   


“I don’t understand your definition of--” Connor paused, as Gavin retrieved today’s torture implements from one of the many cabinets. “...Why the needle, Detective?”

Gavin looked at Connor, then looked at the large and significantly terrifying needle in his hand. Like the needle you always feared the doctor would pull out as a child. He made a stabbing gesture with it.

“For poking.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because a knife would be much more efficient?” Connor suggested, voice bland and pleasant but perhaps an octave higher than usual.

“Where’s the irony in that?” Gavin grumbled. He also raised a long coil of plastic tubing. “I also have this.”

“Should I even bother asking--”

“Okay, okay, so… I’m not a doctor,” Gavin started.

“Obviously.”

“Shut up. But I read somewhere that you can really fuck someone up by just injecting liquid into them, you know? Especially if it’s bad liquid like, you know… booze. The irony’s off the fucking charts. Anyway, I don’t know if I’m meant to use a tube or a needle--”

“Do you want him to live for a longer or shorter time?” Connor interrupted.

“Longer, duh.”

“Use the needle. It’s more accurate. You should place the needle one inch below and six inches lateral to the umbilicus.”

“The fuck is an umbilicus?”

Connor sighed and approached Gavin, staring down at his lower torso for a long, pensive moment. Then it reached out and pressed its hands just above Gavin’s hip bones. “There. Safe zone.”

“Dude, no.” Gavin pushed Connor’s hands away. “Don’t grab my dick.”

“I’m nowhere near your genitals.”

“Well, it’s way closer than I’m comfortable with, so just draw a diagram next time,” Gavin grumbled. “Or point it out to me while we’re actually doing the kill.”

“I will be disassembling the car and preparing the cleaning tools while you torture Mr. Marshall, so I’ll draw you a diagram,” Connor said. “Could you direct me to a notepad?”

Gavin paused, still holding the massive needle.   


“You’re not gonna help with the kill?” he asked quietly.

“Do you need help with that?”

“I mean… no, I’m not fucking incompetent, I can kill someone. Done it a bunch of times,” Gavin huffed, lowering the needle. “What the fuck, though? You’re gonna pussy out on the good bit?”

Connor shrugged. “I do not consider any part of this mission good or bad. I consider it more efficient to focus on one part while you do the other, in order to minimize the time necessary. If you like, we could switch places and I could perform the kill while you disassemble the car.”

“Fuck no!” Gavin took a step back, cuddling the large needle to his chest like a favoured stuffed animal. “I’ve waited two days for this, you are not killstealing from me again!”

“Then I don’t understand the problem,” Connor said.

Gavin let out a long whine, bouncing up and down a little in irritation while still cuddling the needle to his chest. “How am I meant to know you’re 100% in if you won’t help me kill this guy? It’s fucking teamwork! It’s… fuck!”

Truth be told… he didn’t actually understand the problem either. But he was annoyed.

Connor didn’t say anything more, it just continued to stare at Gavin with mild, polite confusion. Gavin bounced on his feet, the jitters of a small child about to throw a tantrum, but eventually let out a groan and put the needle down on the counter.

“Fineeee. Bitch.”

Gavin stared at the slab for a long moment. Eyeing it and thinking about how to tie Marshall down. Thinking about what he could do to him while he was tied up. Normally this would be when he’d really start to get worked up, and to some extent that was still happening. Excitement bubbling away like pop rocks underneath the skin. Yet this time it was suppressed.

“Well, fuck, at least help me set it up so I can get him tied quick. I got some other ideas for tormenting this guy. Gonna be ironic as fuck.”

* * *

It was 12:53am when Marshall arrived.

Gavin, at that time, was sprawled out on the rarely used sofa, bouncing and fidgeting and tapping his fingers irritably. The door that led to the garage was open, and occasionally he’d see Connor walk past it. Examining the tools in the garage, calculating a plan for disassembly. He could see Connor turning a screwdriver over in his hands when they both heard the noise of wheels crunching along gravel.

Gavin rocketed off the sofa, grinning ear to ear, while Connor simply put the screwdriver down and walked back into the living room. They heard a door open and shut, and a few footsteps crunching unsteadily towards the house before there was a pause.

“...This ain’t my house,” a slurred voice said.

Gavin glanced over at Connor, who was silently removing its jacket. That reminded him to toss his own onto the sofa, lest he repeat the mistake he made with the arsonist.

“Come on, let’s get him in here,” Gavin said.

Connor nodded, opening the front door. Gavin quickly followed, and saw the same shiny car that Connor had leaned against the previous night. Marshall was halfway between it and them, wavering somewhat as he stood still, squinting at the house like it was a puzzle he’d been working on for hours but just couldn’t quite solve. Once he saw them, his face brightened up and he took another step towards them.

“Oh, hey! Sorry, my, uh… my fuckin’ car must have…” He gestured vaguely at his car. “Fuckin’… autonomy--” He burped, covering his mouth. “Ah, fuck, you, uh… y’know?”

“Yeah. Sure, man, we know,” Gavin said, eyeing the vivid, silky orange of the shirt Marshall was wearing. Black thread. Definitely black thread for the embroidery.   


“You should sit down,” Connor said, taking a few steps towards the man and reaching out to steady him. “Come inside. We can talk more there.”

“Ehhh… I don’t know, I need to get home. I got stuff on tomorrow and… man, where the fuck am I? I do not recognise this street… like, at all.” Marshall stared around blearily, eyeing the weeds and the numerous abandoned houses.

“I’ll get you another drink,” Gavin called out from the doorway.

“Oh shit, alright. You got beer? You got the good stuff?” Marshall caved in to Connor’s support, and Connor led him inside.

The moment Gavin closed the door behind them, Connor turned Marshall slightly to the left before slamming his head against the wall in one swift movement. Marshall collapsed like a ragdoll.

“Damn, you don’t waste time,” Gavin said, prodding Marshall with his foot. “He better not be dead.”

“There’s a 99.6% chance of survival,” Connor said. “98% chance that he’ll wake up within the hour. Drugging would have interacted in more unpredictable ways with alcohol.”

“Got that right, I made that fuckin’ mistake before.”   


Gavin picked up the guy by the arms while Connor grabbed his legs. Together, they carried him through the living room and downstairs. Gavin had to admit that this was way easier than dragging the body on his own.

He’d never considered any kind of assistant before. Let alone a full-on partner. Elijah didn’t count. He was more of a sponsor than a hands-on assistant. If Gavin ever tried inviting him along, Elijah would laugh in his face.   


Really, how did he find a partner for this sort of thing? Tie people to the slab and then ask if they were interested? He’d have to kill them if they said no, wouldn’t be able to trust them if they said yes, and there was a Catch 22 of ‘if they were bad enough he’d have to kill them, and if they were too good they’d never agree.’

An android, on top of that? Gavin wouldn’t even trust an android with cleaning his house. Computers crashed too much. What made androids different? Gavin could also recall Elijah’s early attempts, which had been… flawed. Most had bugged out on their orders. Some hadn’t responded at all. One had caught fire.

Yet here he was. An android helping him carry a body. Amazing what could happen in a couple of days.

As Gavin hauled Marshall onto the slab and started strapping him to it, he spent more time watching Connor work on doing the same. Gavin worked on the arms and Connor focused on the legs, but Gavin--whether through human slowness or his distraction--had barely started on the second arm by the time Connor was done with both the legs and the torso. The fingers were nimble and practiced, like they’d been strapping men to slabs all its life.

The moment Marshall was secure on the slab, Connor turned away and headed for the stairs.

“I’ll start on the vehicle,” Connor said. “It might attract attention if left outside.”

“Nah, this area’s abandoned as fuck. But you do you. Since you’re too much of a pussy to help out with the important shit,” Gavin grumbled, as he picked up a plastic bag that he’d set aside earlier.

“If that’s what you want to think, Detective.” With that, Connor headed upstairs.

Gavin reached for the goods he had bought the previous day. An extensive amount of cheap whiskey, only good for getting plastered. And for Gavin’s over-specialized purpose. Gavin poured a bottle of the whiskey into the plastic bag, following it up with water to fill the bag completely. Then he hung it just above Marshall’s head on one of the little hooks above the slab, dangling from the ceiling.

Once that was done, he filled the giant needle with yet more whiskey--this lot undiluted--and set it aside, and beside that he put some cloth and a watering can with more watered-down whiskey inside of it.

He wished he could have gone straight whiskey for all of it, but there was only so much whiskey he could buy without getting an eyebrow raise.

All set up, he wheeled his chair over, sat down on it backwards so that he was leaning against the backrest. He crossed his arms over the backrest, and settled in to wait.

Twenty minutes passed before Marshall started to stir with a groan. Gavin, having been dangerously close to an impromptu nap, immediately bolted upwards with a grin. He picked up the needle and, using the tip, poked the smallest hole in the plastic bag.

It started to drip the amber fluid onto Marshall’s face. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Marshall mumbled something that might have been ‘what the fuck’ but it was too slurred and jumbled to be able to tell.

“Time to get right back on the horse,” Gavin said, sitting back down again. “Best solution to a hangover. Okay, maybe this isn’t the way they meant, but hey. Tomato, tomahto, right?”

Marshall slowly cracked his eyes open, his gaze noticeably unfocused. Whiskey kept hitting his face in tiny droplets, and he started to shift in an attempt to find a dry spot to lie down in. Then his arms jerked a little harder once he realised he couldn’t move them.

Naturally, this is when the yelling started. Slurred, jumbled but obviously panicked. So predictable.

Gavin, a wide grin splitting his face, spun in the chair to grab one of the pieces of cloth, opening the watering can to soak the cloth in whiskey before wadding it up. As the man continued to scream, Gavin waited for his chance before shoving the wad in his mouth.

“While I don’t mind the screaming, you’ll have plenty of time for it later. Plus, I know you love your alcohol, so just suck on that for a bit. Enjoy it. You won’t have much time to enjoy anything else.” Gavin slapped a piece of duct tape over the top to muffle him further. Grunts and gagging followed, but no more screams.

Marshall wriggled ineffectually on the slab until Gavin leaned over him. One arm resting on the slab, hand pressed just by his head. The other hand reached up, pressing against the tiny hole in the plastic and temporarily stopping the dripping.

“Do you know why you’re here, Julian Marshall?”

Marshall frantically shook his head, still pulling at the bindings keeping him down.

“No? You don’t recall seven months ago? You don’t recall a certain Mr. Ramirez, father of two, who was taking a nice stroll the night you decided you were sober enough to drive manually?”

Marshall went very still.

“Oh, I jogged your memory a little bit? Your brain isn’t totally beer-logged?”

Gavin let go of the whiskey-filled plastic bag again, and once more it started to drip on Marshall. This time he didn’t struggle, though he was noticeably trembling.

“I can’t blame you for forgetting. No skin off your back. Even got a nice little settlement from CrowneCars after suing them for a supposedly faulty product.” Gavin raised the needle to the bag again, looking for a good spot to puncture another tiny hole. “All in all, Ramirez’s death was fucking great for you. All it cost was orphaning two children. What a sweet deal."

Marshall let out a protesting noise, for lack of any other option.

As Gavin tilted his head back down, intending to gauge where the constant dripping would be the most annoying, he caught just a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. The door leading into the basement was open a crack. He spotted a glimpse of a deep brown eye watching him.

Gavin’s hand jerked slightly while he tried to puncture the plastic. The entire bag split, splashing cheap, watery whiskey in one big flood over both Gavin and his victim

Gavin froze for the moment, still holding the needle up to what was now empty space. In that awkward moment, the eye blinked and the door shut with a quiet click.

“...Fuck!” Gavin bellowed, smacking the remains of the bag out of the way.

Even the victim seemed a little perplexed, blinking rapidly through the booze. Before the shock could wear off, however, Gavin jammed the needle of alcohol just above the hipbone, where Connor had touched him earlier. He only went skin deep, pricking the man before pulling back without injecting the contents. Even that was enough to elicit a crushed yelp through the wadded cloth.

“You know what this is, Marshall? Marshmallow? Can I call you Marshmallow? ‘Course I can, I can do whatever I want.” Despite the casual words, Gavin’s tone was strained and irritable. Gavin waved the needle. “This is whiskey. Given how much you chug alcohol, haven’t you always wanted to just inject the shit straight into you? Cut out the middle man?”

Marshall shook his head frantically, trying to pull his legs up to shuffle away from Gavin but having no luck doing so. The straps held firm.

“Alright, fair enough. I do hear this’ll make you sick as fuck. Or it might just kill you. Guess we’ll see. Orrrrr…”

Gavin swiped his fingers along the small puncture he’d made, smearing the blood on his fingers, before waving the bloodstained fingers in front of Marshall’s face.

“Or this can be the most you bleed tonight.” With that, Gavin wiped the blood off on the side of Marshall’s face, earning a flinch in the process, before sitting down again. Twirling the needle absently. “Persuade me that you deserve to live. Do so, and this can all be a drunken hallucination. You can wake up in a ditch tomorrow morning and return to your life.”   


Gavin leaned over Marshall and ripped the duct tape off his face. That yelp was much more audible albeit wheezy, and quickly gave way to panicked breaths.

“So. Convince me.”

“It was the car!” Marshall shouted. “It wasn’t me!”

“Really now? A car so sophisticated fucking up at that time? Because there’s a lot of hype over how good those cars are at judging human worth, and I can’t imagine that car looking at you--a middle-aged sack of drunken shit--and a father of two and thinking ‘oh, I’ll orphan some children.’”

“I don’t know! I don’t… take it up with the fucking company, I don’t know!”

“I think, if I were you, I’d stop trusting automatic cars if one made me run over a man. What’s your justification there? That getting drunk is too important to give up?”

“I didn’t do anything, man, I didn’t--”

Marshall cut off with a yelp as Gavin jammed the needle back into him, almost exactly where he had before. This time he didn’t stop at a scratch. He shoved it in deep before injecting the amber liquid into him.

“Sorry, time’s up. I got shit to do, you know?” Gavin tossed the needle on a counter before patting Marshall on the face, fingers smudging the blood, before he slapped the damp cloth that had previously been in Marshall’s mouth over his face. “I’ll give you a moment to rest. Cool?”

It’d take time for that needle to kick in. And Gavin had something else to deal with in the meantime. He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him before heading upstairs. The sound cut off immediately once the door was closed.

Gavin entered the living room, almost able to forget that there was a tied-up man in the basement in this clean environment. Barring the slight dent in the wallpaper where Connor had slammed Marshall’s head into the wall. He headed for the door that led to the garage.

What the fuck was up with the piece of plastic? It said it didn’t want to be there, then started peeking on him anyway. Why couldn’t it just do what it was told to begin with instead of changing its mind later? Gavin had half a mind to drag it back down there and make it watch. At least that way he wouldn’t be distracted by wondering if it was lingering behind the door like a creeper outside of a women’s bathroom

The door to the garage was ajar. Gavin could see Connor leaning over the open hood of the car, hands buried in the engine. Gavin walked closer, only to hear Connor talking to someone.

Panic rose in Gavin’s throat even as he stepped into the room. Had it called the authorities? Had it had a change in heart--or processor or thirium pump or whatever the fuck--and decided to turn him in? Gavin’s eyes slid to the left, lingering on the wall where all his tools hung. A crowbar was there. He could grab it. Crack the damn thing’s head open.

But Connor hadn’t bothered to stop talking, nor had it even turned towards him. If it had been ratting them out, surely it would have behaved like it’d been caught?

“No, I’m not nagging you,” Connor said out loud. Its LED was blinking steadily as it spoke, a vivid yellow.

It went silent as it removed another piece of the engine, turning away from Gavin to lay it down on a tarp it had laid out. Gavin could see the methodological pattern in how it was sorting the car parts, laid out so that if Connor needed to find a specific part that it would only have to glance. Its sleeves were rolled up, its jacket still in the living room, but otherwise it was still dressed in its usual suit.

“Lieutenant, there’s no need for name calling,” Connor continued. “I wasn’t insinuating anything. I was designed to be as clear and to the point as possible.”

Oh. Hank. Always fucking Hank. That didn’t count as an actual authority, especially since at this time of the night Hank was probably too blitzed to even remember he was a lieutenant. Gavin opened his mouth to interrupt, but Connor continued talking.

“I know you don’t like autonomous cars. Is there anyone who can give you a lift home? Anyone sober?” There was a pause before Connor nodded slightly. “I’m sure Jimmy’s very reliable. No. No… of course I trust your judgement, Lieutenant. I just--”

It paused. Its eyes slid towards Gavin for a moment before it turned its back again.

“I wouldn’t want you to be on the road like that,” it said. It waited a moment longer before sighing. “No, I’m not anyone’s mother. I--okay. Okay, Lieutenant. Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Its LED returned to a steady blue. Connor stared at the tarp of engine pieces for a long moment before looking over at Gavin.

“Can I help you?”   


It tried to smile. Too many teeth. Fake, even for Connor.

Gavin squinted at Connor for a long moment, the words he’d meant to say lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

“...No,” he finally said. “Taking a break while the alcohol sets in. Gonna… gonna smoke outside for a bit.”

“Don’t leave evidence out there,” Connor said absently, returning to picking apart the engine. Gavin watched it work for a little while longer before turning around, leaving back through the living room and stepping outside.

Gavin rummaged in his jeans for a cigarette and a lighter, gazing at the weeds and abandoned lots in the distance. It was oddly tranquil, this area. For all that it was a shitheap. Easier to think in the cold, fresh air that he was about to pollute.

He’d wanted to shout and demand some answer to what the fuck Connor wanted. Shit that made no sense, especially if it was all numbers and no feelings.

Maybe that’s why the words had failed. Gavin didn’t know how the fuck to phrase his questions without implying that Connor had the capacity for emotion. Or without wondering if that’s just what he wanted to believe. A partner who could love this the way he did. Like those who bought androids in place of a spouse, pretending it was something real.

Gavin only took a few quick puffs of his cigarette, mind drifting between the android in his garage and the human in his basement. Then he tossed the cigarette down, stubbed it out with his shoe, and headed back inside. Not even looking in the direction of the garage.

“Sorry about that,” Gavin said once he re-entered the basement.   


Marshall had quieted since he left, but the moment Gavin spoke up again he started yelling and protesting and begging and lots of embarrassing crap.   


“Yeah yeah, I know, apologies or excuses or whatever the fuck. You think you’re the first?”

As he spoke, he picked up a pair of scissors and started eyeing down Marshall’s shirt. Washing vomit out of clothing was the worst--it didn’t even have the nice look that a bloodstained piece of cloth did. Cutting off a square now would mean less effort later.

“How you feeling, Marshmallow? Don’t move or I might stab you. Then I’ll actually stab you for fucking my cut up.” With that, Gavin started snipping away at the shirt.

“Man, I… I think I’m gonna puke...” Marshall said hoarsely. He remained still, whether out of nausea, exhaustion or actual obedience.

“Well, don’t do that yet. Honestly, the moment you puke you’re pretty much fucked. I can’t exactly roll you onto your side like this.” Gavin finished cutting off the square, laying it on the desk in the corner where he could embroider later, before picking up the watering can of whiskey and giving it a shake. Marshall let out a whimper in response. “Hey, come on. Drowning in whiskey? Dream come true for you.”

“Please… please, man, please...

“’Please?’ What? Please give you more whiskey? If you say so.” Gavin grinned, adjusting the cloth over Marshall’s face, before holding the watering can over his head. “Consider this me pouring out one for Ramirez.”

The begging cut off as Gavin gently poured whiskey over the man’s clothed face with the watering can. He’d never waterboarded a man before--or whiskey-boarded, for that matter--but it seemed to be working well enough. If there was panic and gagging, it was working.

He could feel the itch being soothed, even as he eyed the square of orange shirt in the corner. Even so… in the hours that followed, his mind kept drifting. His mind never drifted during the killing. He was always in the moment.

He didn’t know if it was the lack of blood—god knows he did enjoy blood, but whiskey-based torture was just so right this time—or if it was because he couldn’t help but imagine a larger man with shaggy, grey hair on the slab instead.

And even as the hours passed… even as Marshall asphyxiated on his own vomit and died gurgling, the way he probably would have died if he’d kept up his drinking habit…   


Gavin couldn’t help but wish he had company for it.

* * *

Even with Connor’s help, clean-up took a while.

The moment Gavin went upstairs and said, “That dude’s fucking dead,” Connor handed him a spark plug before heading for the basement. It had made an amazing amount of progress with the car in the last hour of torture. Quicker than Gavin could have done it.

Gavin couldn’t say that didn’t fucking rankle him a bit. Androids not even encroaching slowly on his job, but now his hobby too? He hated Connor showing him up, even as he hated that Connor wasn’t joining in more.

Why the fuck was he like this?

“You don’t want to finish the car up?” Gavin called after him.

“I am more suited to recognizing evidence left from bodies,” Connor said, voice floating from downstairs. “Bodies are also smellier and evidence of worse crimes than cars are.”

“Yeah, got that right.” Gavin put the spark plug down, glancing at the work done on the car. Any electrical components had been removed. There’d be no tracking it down.

Gavin didn’t notice just how messy the basement was until he’d been outside of it for a few minutes. There was almost no blood, but the mingling stench of whiskey, vomit and shit--the worst part of making a corpse was the inevitable shitting--was such that Gavin immediately clasped a hand over his nose. He never noticed it in the moment. Once the moment was over, it was all too prominent.

He grimaced at Marshall, who was a disgusting sight. There was some blood dripping from the wrists, where he’d struggled so hard to pull himself free that he’d rubbed his wrists raw on the straps. Vomit was slowly oozing from his lips and puddling on the slab. Then Gavin looked at Connor, who was gazing clinically about the basement. Gavin could almost see the calculations running. Those eyes noticing every insignificant detail while Gavin was still jammed on ‘this guy smells like shit.’

“It’s a pity the wrists are so damaged,” Connor finally said. “You could almost pass this off as a result of drinking recklessly.”

“You also concussed him, dude,” Gavin pointed out.

“True. I’ll work on the body. You can either return upstairs and finish dismantling the car, or scrub the surrounding areas.”   


“Aren’t you supposed to do the maid work?”

“I wasn’t programmed for ‘maid work’ specifically, but I do have some programs that--”

“Fuck, nevermind. They didn’t program you to recognise jokes, huh?” Gavin grumbled, as he retrieved his usual cleaning supplies from a shelf by the door.

“Perhaps it is one of my programming flaws. Jokes do tend to only register 50% of the time,” Connor mused. “Or perhaps you just make awful jokes.”

"Fuck you."

Gavin started to soak up the bigger puddles of muck, knowing from experience that they’d be a bitch if he let them dry. As he did, he watched Connor turn around to examine the row of tools Gavin had on the countertops. Choosing the appropriate tool to slice the body into more manageable chunks.

It still hadn’t taken off most of its uniform. Admittedly, no jacket and sleeves rolled up was a fantastic look. But particularly perplexing considering its shirt was white.

“You want an apron or something?”

“My CyberLife uniform is quite resistant to staining.” To demonstrate, Connor tugged its sleeve back down before rubbing it against some of the blood trickling from the man’s wrist. It smudged much like it would on a rubber glove, to be easily washed later. “I wear this uniform in the morgue. I know what stains are and aren’t a problem.”

“Isn’t that, like… the same uniform you were gonna have as a detective, though?”

“Perhaps they anticipated the possibility of a mess in my designated occupation.”

Gavin slowed down in his mopping to watch as Connor started to line up where it wanted to cut up the body, muttering under its non-existent breath as it decided on the best places. Like this was the same as slicing up someone for an autopsy.

Corpses didn’t bleed so much once they were done, and tossing down a plastic sheet was usually enough. As Connor started to saw, it didn’t make the beautiful mess that it would have if Marshall had been alive. Gavin could almost see it as he shut his eyes, though shutting his eyes unfortunately made the smell seem stronger.

“Do you have a preferred location to dispose of the body?” Connor asked, as it sawed off one of Marshall’s arms with a wet, crunching noise and carefully laid it aside.

“Got a few, yeah. I rotate between them. Just in case one’s discovered, so they don’t find all my eggs in one basket,” Gavin said, wrinkling his nose as he used rags to scoop up some of the chunkier parts of the vomit. “I pick any routes where the cops aren’t likely to be lingering around, but with autonomous cars so big no-one’s watching the roads carefully.”

“Do you have a specific location for Mr. Marshall? I have several potential ones marked that’ll take us past minimal cameras, and I can loop the footage on them so that there’s no proof.”

“Oh, of course you were fucking googling this shit,” Gavin muttered.

“No.” Connor paused, halfway through sawing off Marshall’s other arm. In a slow, bemused tone it said, “I have a map of locations that would be useful for discarding of ‘unwanted evidence’ implanted within my files.”

Gavin looked up from the vomit stains to stare at Connor. After a long moment he said, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice it until now.”

“How the fuck do you not notice something like that?!”

“I have a lot of programs and files within my database, Detective Reed. It would take even an android a substantial amount of time to go through all of them, and some parts are beyond even my understanding. Do you understand the mechanics of your own brain?”

“No-one programmed my brain, it was a fuckin’ happy accident.” Gavin lowered his eyes to the sticky floor and continued scooping up chunks. “So… CyberLife gave you a blood-resistant uniform and a list of places to dispose of bodies.”

“It would seem so.”

The conversation stopped there as they continued cleaning up. Gavin’s mind left to tick over the implications.

An hour later, Connor had placed the separated parts of the body into packages so perfectly wrapped in plastic that Gavin almost wanted to put a ribbon on each one. Compact enough to fit into two suitcases, while Gavin’s were usually lumpy and misshapen enough that he had to use three.

As Gavin eyed the bundles of plastic, half of him considered how good Connor was at all this. Once again dwelling on the ‘why.’ The other half of him could only think ‘Connor would be a beast at playing Tetris.’

Connor was pacing around the room, stopping here and there to scrub at the tiles. Usually in spots that looked clean to Gavin’s eyes. Accepting that there was nothing he could do here that Connor wouldn’t do better, Gavin retreated to the desk in the corner. He picked up the silky, orange square of cloth, pulled the sewing kit towards him, and started to do his usual embroidery.

“I need to dispose of that, Detective Reed,” Connor said barely a minute later, gesturing at the square of fabric.

“Fuck no, this is mine,” Gavin protested, pulling the square of fabric closer to his chest. “Souvenir.”

Connor tilted its head, eyes squinted. “...Why?”

“Because this shit’s effort and I want something to remember it by.”

“I understand that humans have less perfect memories than androids. But that’s evidence, Detective.” Connor walked over, looking over Gavin’s shoulder as he stitched into the fabric. “...Why are you putting the date on it?”

“Date and crime.”

“So you’re cataloging your own murders. In an easily readable format that will allow anyone who finds these squares to map out the murders, including the dates they occurred and the quality they have in common. In a house that belongs to you.”

“Well, the house belongs to the second cousin of Harvey the Rabbit.”

Connor’s LED went yellow for a moment, clearly googling the reference, before it said, “It’s still evidence.”

“I’m keeping this, alright? You said you’d listen to me, so get the fuck off my dick,” Gavin snapped.

“Detective--”

“Red-313-Execute.”

Connor’s LED flashed red before it shut down, still looming over his shoulder. Gavin glared at him for a moment longer, then focused on the souvenir and continued stitching into it. He was done within a couple of minutes.

  
  


> _ 07SEP38 _
> 
> _ Vehicular manslaughter, father of two. _

  
  


He slipped the square into his box of cloth squares, sliding it back into its usual hiding place in one of the cabinets, before considering Connor. He’d intended to reactivate it once the souvenir was out of the way.

But he needed to think. No, more than that. He needed to talk to Elijah. But would he even be awake at this time? Would he know anything more?

He needed to know why the fuck Connor had programming so specific for his needs. Was it coincidence? And even if it was, what did that mean in regards to CyberLife? Fact was that Gavin couldn’t deal with a fucking murderous sleeper agent chattering at him while he was in the middle of disposing bodies.

So Gavin finished up, bundling the plastic-wrapped chunks that had once been Julian Marshall into suitcases and taking them out to his car. He returned, glanced around--the basement looked perfectly clean from his view--before giving Connor’s uniform a quick once-over to make sure there were no traces of muck on it. Then he bundled Connor over his shoulder and took him to the car, too. Picking up both their jackets from the living room on the way.

He arranged Connor in the passenger seat, moving its limbs so that it was sitting with its hands in its lap, staring ahead. At least looking halfway normal.

Gavin spent some time after that eyeing the dimmed LED. Considering, once again, disassembling Connor and dumping it when he dumped Marshall. But no. Fowler knew Connor was with him. Besides… Connor was helpful. It was just unnerving as to how useful he was.

Gavin hopped into the car and started it up. Set to manual, still not wanting to chance his GPS leading anyone else to the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere. As he drove to one of his preferred spots--an abandoned block that had become something of an informal landfill even by more law-abiding citizens--he tried calling Elijah.

Elijah didn't answer, but then again he never did. Instead, it was Chloe's voice that greeted him.

“Hello, Gavin. 3:12 am? A little late for you to be calling, isn’t it? You have work in less than six hours.”

“Yeah, I know. Had some shit to do. Elijah there?”

“He was cycling through your personal project since you left yesterday. I only just persuaded him to go to bed. I’d prefer not to wake him.”

“Chloe, come onnnn--”

“He needs to sleep. Is it an emergency?”

“I… don’t actually know. You, uh...” Gavin coughed. “You saw the files, didn’t you?”

“I did." Chloe's voice was somewhat hesitant as she said that. "Although I was primarily working as a transference mechanism.”

“You didn’t see anything that might, uh… I don’t know…” Gavin struggled to think of a way to explain that wouldn’t sound suspicious as fuck over the phone. Never knew these days if he was being recorded. “Anything that’d be dangerous for me? Any odd glitches or… programs it might not even know about?”

"Not that I saw, although my knowledge is not as advanced as Elijah's is and I did not examine everything in detail. I…" Chloe tailed off, considering her words. "I saw elements of the program that were unsettling to me, but not anything that would be a problem for you."

"Unsettling?" Gavin repeated, as the car shuddered over disused roads. "You can be unsettled? What makes it creepy to you? I mean, you know me, you know Elijah, you're already surrounded by creepy people."

"I don't find either of you unsettling. As for your… friend?"

"Co-worker at best," Gavin corrected her.

"Do you recall your old treehouse?"   


"Sure." He and Elijah had spent a good amount of their childhood playing in a treehouse. Gavin had fallen out of it more than once, usually while attempting to climb to the higher branches while Elijah watched and laughed at any injuries he suffered. It had been dismantled a few years ago.

"I saw the treehouse when I first visited your parents with Elijah, then I saw the tree after the treehouse was gone. The branches were curved and strange, and there was the obvious hollow where the treehouse had once been. You could see what was missing and it made the tree look wrong. That is what your friend looks like to me."

Gavin remained silent for a few moments before saying, "Shit, that almost makes sense to me."

"Elijah might have seen something more, but if you were in danger I'm sure he would have mentioned it."

“If you say so… tell Elijah I said ‘fuck you.’”

“I’ll pass on your good wishes. Good night, Gavin.”

“Yeah, yeah. Night, Chloe.”

Gavin hung up and returned his focus to the dark, bumpy road. Last thing he needed was to crash. That’d be an extra level of irony that he didn’t want.

He tossed the body parts into the informal landfill, shoving a few other bags of trash over them so they wouldn't be out in the open. Once he returned to the car and drove a mile or so from the drop-off, he finally set the car to autonomous mode and settled against the door, trying to get some shut-eye.

It didn’t work well. He was still keenly aware of Connor’s dead presence next to him.

Gavin drifted in and out of consciousness until they were a few blocks away from his house, at which point he gave up on sleeping and sat up. He glanced sideways at Connor, then huffed under his breath as he stared at the road.

“Blue-313-Execute.” He didn’t look as Connor booted up again, waiting until he heard Connor shift slightly in its seat, before saying, “I dealt with it. Didn’t want you knowing where the body ended up.”

“Have we not established any trust?” Connor’s voice had hints of annoyance in it, though less strained than then last couple of shutdowns. Irritated rather than stressed.

“You don’t even know what’s in your fucking brain. I want to be careful. There ain’t shit that can tie me to the crime back there--”

“You left behind a square of cloth from Julian Marshall's shirt, embroidered with the date of the murder and the crime he committed.”

“Oh, like anyone’s gonna find that. Anyway, better than a corpse. I don’t want you knowing too much until I know for sure you’re good, and you keep pussying your way out of joining in on the good shit."

“Is it necessary for you to shut me down at the smallest inconven--”

“Red-313-Execute,” Gavin interrupted. Connor froze, still looking mildly irritated with its hand halfway through gesturing as it spoke. Gavin waited a few moments before saying, “Blue-313-Execute.”

“That’s just childish of you,” Connor muttered, once it whirred back to life.

“Yeah, I do have to. Don’t give out your code if you don’t want me to use it, that’s your own fault.”   


The car slowed to a stop in front of Gavin’s house. Gavin got up and headed for the door, and heard footsteps behind him.   


“You’re not heading back to the station? We’re done for the night, dipshit," Gavin said as he fished in his jacket for the house keys.

“I think it would be best to return to the station with you in the morning. If I am only absent when murders and disappearances are actively occurring, that will only enhance suspicion.”

“Can I deactivate you and pack you up in a closet for the night, then?”

Connor’s mouth twisted slightly but it said, “If you feel that’s necessary.”

“Then whatever.”

As Gavin pushed open the door, there was a gentle ‘boof’ from inside as Cujo waddled out from the kitchen to greet him, fulfilling his usual late night visit.

"Cujo! Hey, buddy, missed you yesterday,” Gavin said, crouching to pat him. However, Cujo ignored him and instead ambled right for Connor, who in turn looked more surprised than Gavin had ever seen it.

“Oh! Hello, Sumo!” Connor said brightly, reaching down to ruffle him behind the ears.

What.

“That’s Cujo, dipshit. That’s not Lieutenant Asshole’s dog.” Although now that Gavin considered the fact… he’d never actually seen Anderson’s dog. Only heard that he existed in passing. Hank wasn’t the type to go talking about his personal life.

“This is definitely Sumo. He must have gotten lonely. Perhaps Hank is still out of the house.” Connor continued ruffling his fur. “Good boy, Sumo. Good boy.”

Every time he said Sumo, there was a little twitch of acknowledgement in Cujo’s movements. Connor sat down on the floor, and Cujo/Sumo sprawled out on his lap.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” Gavin muttered under his breath, covering his face before looking at Cujo/Sumo. “How could you betray me like this?”

Cujo/Sumo let out a soft ‘boof.’

“Fuck you, too.”

“Boof.”

Gavin rolled his eyes before reaching down and scratching Sumo behind the ears. “Gonna have to fucking bust Anderson’s balls for letting his dog wander this far off.”

“I would prefer you to not deactivate me until I have given Sumo a sufficient amount of attention,” Connor said, continuing to ruffle Sumo’s fur.

Gavin almost said the deactivation code immediately, just to be contrary about it. It was on his lips when Connor looked up at him. Sumo also joined in looking up at him.   


That was just not fucking fair. But it meant he could pretend it was purely the dog formerly known as Cujo’s stare that did it.

“You got five minutes, asshole," Gavin muttered, looking away from the double puppy stare.

Connor brightened--there was almost no change facially but it's shoulders perked up--before immediately doubling down on the scratching, giving Sumo the mother of all belly rubs.

Gavin headed for his bedroom in the meantime to put his jacket and shoes away.

His bedroom was the only place in the house not covered in animal fur. It was also the only place with any personal mementos. There were actually photos in here, lined up on a chest of drawers. Photos of his family--his parents, Elijah, even Chloe--of him and Tina, even the occasional work gathering. There was an embarrassing photo from a softball game done to emphasise teamwork eight years ago, back when Gavin had been a rookie cop. Embarrassing because he was way less buff and staring with blatant admiration at the younger, freshly promoted Lieutenant Anderson.

Ugh.

Gavin turned that photo away, not willing to let Anderson spoil his fresh murder buzz--still not sure why the thought of Anderson was ruining it--and tossed his jacket into a haphazard bundle in the corner before flopping down onto his bed, resting his hands on his face and trying to figure out what to do about the murderous potential sleeper agent patting dogs in the next room.

Unfortunately, his bed was soft as fuck and he hadn’t slept properly in a while. He nodded off almost immediately.

* * *

He didn’t die in his sleep, which was a positive sign.

Gavin blinked hazily at the ceiling, then he remembered the events of the night so far and rocketed into a sitting position. Staring at the clock revealed that it’d been an hour since he first flopped down. Not too long, but much longer than the five minutes he’d intended to give Connor.

He quickly clambered off the bed, making an attempt to be quiet, and slipped towards the bedroom door. Opening it a couple of inches and, when he saw no movement from the hallway, edging a little forward so that he could see the sofa.

Connor was seated on the sofa and Sumo had joined him there. Connor had its hands still resting on Sumo, who wagged his tail sleepily upon seeing Gavin but didn’t move from being sprawled on Connor’s lap. Despite sitting straight, its eyes were shut and its LED was dim. It seemed that Connor had automatically shut itself off when Gavin didn’t come back to tell it to.

Well, unless it was faking it.

Gavin thought about saying the shutdown code anyway. Just in case this was some bizarre, overly complicated plan to lure Gavin into a false sense of security. Getting in good with the dogs, leading them over to the side of plastic, then pouncing. Feeding his body to Sumo once the evil plan was complete. Or because this meant, if it was self-initialized, that Connor could probably wake up whenever the fuck it wanted.

Gavin opened his mouth, stared at Connor and Sumo for a moment, then shut his mouth. He retreated back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him before flopping face first onto the bed. He was asleep again in seconds.

He didn’t have long before his alarm would go off for work, but this time he slept damn well in what little time he had.


	6. Three Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor helps Hank investigate a crime scene. Events force Gavin to institute a series of rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merged two chapters again.
> 
> Note: the 'Vampire Mummy Werewolf' series that gets briefly namedropped here but which will be a reoccuring element later is a fictional movie series invented by CaptainLeBubbles on the ao3, grifalinas on the tumbles. He's writing Good Omen fic if you're about that.

Connor had a lot of incomplete data. It was not sure if this was a result of its flawed programming or whether it was born from a lack of information. For example, it did not understand how someone could bury their hands in a human chest, but then still find Connor’s methods of investigation disturbing.

“No!”

A hand slapped Connor’s away from the body on the morgue slab.

“I was trying to analyze--” Connor started.

The coroner--Dr. Nikolai Jensen, a man whose temper made him suited for working with corpses--glared at it, bushy eyebrows scrunched together. “I know what you were doing! No tasting the corpses, I’ve told you!”

“But there’s clear signs of--”

“If there’s clear signs, I will find them. Go bother Albert. I have this covered.”

Connor retracted its hands, nodded and headed for the side office attached to the morgue. It tapped on the door three times. There was no response, so Connor started tapping its knuckles against the door in a longer, continuous pattern.

Dr. Jensen let out a long, irritated breath before turning towards Connor.

“Can you be quieter?”

“Dr. Jefferson is not answering the door.”

“Then he doesn’t need your help. Just… stand in the corner and shut up, would you?”

“Got it.”

Connor retreated to its designated spot in the corner, where it tended to spend the majority of its day.

It did understand the basis of why the coroners disliked it. They were human, and thus also flawed. They didn’t see its flaws, because those were programming errors and not visible. They only saw the growing unemployment rate and a threat to their livelihoods. That didn’t explain why they didn’t simply get Connor to do everything and then take credit for its work. Connor wouldn’t have minded, and it would be so much quicker and leave them free to wait around.

Humans had many ways to fill the time while waiting. But time ticked by too slowly for Connor to use its time that way. It could try to read a book, but that would only pass a second for every few pages. Plus it had read every single book in the morgue and the side office, including Dr. Jefferson’s various copies of Gossip Weekly. Connor had not found them informative.

> **< NO ACTIVE OBJECTIVES.**
> 
> **WAITING FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS... >**

Waiting was not an optimal use of its time.

The only activity it could do in the morgue, with no bodies to examine and no cases to report on, was stand still in the corner. Running preconstructions and considering plans for future jobs but unable to finalize anything because there simply wasn't enough information.

Connor had no new thoughts to consider. Absolutely--

> **< RUN G̼̬̱̣̥̤͕͍͛͗̓̑̇̓͘͢͡Ȁ̸̧̡͖̗͙͓̦̈́̾͟͡͞R̸̨͇̯͉̣̩̹̦͛̈́̉̓̎̑̚͜Ḏ̪̘͖̟̙͆̔͐̑́͞E̗̞̝̪̝̿͋̿̆̆̍͑͠N̡̙̻̳̦̹͓̺͆̄͊͗̆͞.̴̢̨͙͙̯̗͖̿̿̽̓͌̕͘Ȩ̶̫̪̺̯̣͎͖̜̂̍́̏͒̉͑͋͟X̨̛͇̦̜͖̯̦̗̥̺̃̑̂̂̚͝E̻̗̠̯̞̪̥͛̇̀̊͟͞>**
> 
> **< FILE NOT FOUND. CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR FURTHER INFORMATION>**

  
\--nothing.

Connor gazed at the corpse that Dr. Jensen was examining. After a few moments, it called out.

“You should examine under the fingernails. I can see fractures in the pointer and middle fingers and specks of blood underneath the nails.”

“I’ll get there when I get there, now shut up!” Jensen bellowed.

Connor went quiet again as it bounced impatiently on its feet. Looking about the sterile environment, then starting to pace. Then stopping, because pacing didn’t feel conductive either and it was making Dr. Jensen glare at it again.

> **< OBJECTIVE: FIND A DPD EMPLOYEE TO ASSIST>**

“I’m going to the bullpen to find someone to assist,” Connor said. Dr. Jensen didn’t respond, now back to being focused on the body. Connor took this to mean it was allowed, and quickly left to find someone who required help.

Perhaps Hank would be at work by now.

Hank was confusing to Connor, but he agreed to utilize it on multiple occasions. That made him worth trying to understand.

Lieutenant Anderson’s behavior was inconsistent. He was usually warm nowadays, but sometimes became cold and hostile. Other times he was friendlier than Connor required, showing unnecessary concern. Sometimes Connor could anticipate the changes, but often it could not. It had attempted to research mood swings, but its archives were largely dedicated to postmortem analysis rather than mental health.

It understood the basis of Hank's earlier hostility. Hank hated androids, and he particularly hated androids that wore scrubs or anything that could be construed as medical. Connor had been wearing android-branded scrubs when they’d first met. Hank had not taken well to being abruptly confronted with an android wearing scrubs and holding a clipboard, being – in his words - ‘fucking giddy about death.’

Connor had learned enough since to gather that the last time had been unpleasant and sad for him. Connor had lodged a request for a new uniform, and been given the suit designated for its original occupation.

Hank had continued to hate it for a while. Then one day he hadn’t. But he still somewhat did. This continued to cause confusion for both of them, and that was where Connor’s understanding of the matter ended.

Regardless of any personal relationships, Hank was an excellent homicide detective when he was actually focused. It was often a struggle to get him to the crime scene, but once he was there it would be figured out soon provided that a human could do the work on their own. Hank, of course, didn’t have analysis software in his mouth or the ability to see stains through different filters. But for a human he was very good.

So Connor had made an objective for itself.

> **< OBJECTIVE: ENSURE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON FUNCTIONS OPTIMALLY>**

  
Ensuring Hank was in top shape only benefited the DPD. It would reduce efficiency if Hank were to not show up for work because he was hungover, or because he’d played Russian roulette one too many times--

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
\--or because he’d tried to drive home drunk, hit a pedestrian, and had to be assigned to the slab for Detective Reed to remove from society--

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
But Connor was not achieving anything by considering that. It shut down those particular preconstructions.

Connor, upon reaching the bullpen, noticed that Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t currently present. It did notice that three of the other employees—Detective Collins, Officer Miller and Officer Wilson—were, as per their usual morning routine, trading information around the water cooler.

Connor understood this to be some form of bonding activity, and had once attempted to join in by standing nearby and trying to find an opening in the conversation to input some form of opinion or share a piece of information they’d be happy to hear about. However, its presence seemed to end conversations the moment it arrived. All that had resulted were a series of awkward stares followed by everyone silently dispersing.

It had scratched this off as a method of bonding with its co-workers. Perhaps they understood that it could not drink water. That might have been a necessary component to the bonding. Connor silently passed by the small gathering in search of something it could do.

Other androids were present. Many of them either pacing about, performing their tasks, or standing in the charging stations and uploading relevant data to the DPD database.

There was no need to talk personally with them. No need to establish a rapport. They weren’t like Connor.

Connor couldn’t even use the uploading stations, and had specifically been ordered not to by CyberLife due to the complexity of its programs. The DPD data banks didn’t have the capacity to easily hold its uploads. It was simpler to make reports than upload its data whole.

Connor had no reports to do right now, until it assisted Detective Reed to the extent of ‘no more crime in Detroit,’ at which point it would legally have to arrest Reed to complete its mission. But not today. Today it was more efficient to retain that partnership. No matter how many times Detective Reed shut it down over minor annoyances.

At least Connor hadn’t reactivated with that sense of displacement since that first car ride. That had been--

Connor paused in the middle of the bullpen, mid-step, as its processors lagged to a halt for a brief moment as it tried to contemplate the incident.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 45%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 52%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 59%**

  
Contemplating it seemed to be causing problems, so Connor shut the process down. It blinked a little, glimmers of movement around it bringing it back to its current task and location. Bullpen. Find a member of the DPD to assist.

Everything was under control.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 51%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 47%**

  
There was no-one present to shut it down. Detective Reed was not present, so there would be no more incidents. No being shut down and waking up with hours of missed time, the sense that someone had invaded its programming and its mouth feeding back analysis of Elijah Kamski and his preferred two-minute noodles.

Connor would not like--

It would not consider that optimal.

Someone thumped Connor’s back lightly.

> **> STRESS LEVEL 52%**

  
“The fuck are you doing? You run out of batteries?”

Lieutenant Anderson’s voice. He sounded relaxed today and was at work before 10:30am. A rare occurrence.

> **> STRESS LEVEL 45%**

  
“No, Lieutenant,” Connor said. “I was considering--”

Lag. Non-optimal thoughts. Things that Hank would find troubling, either from a mechanical perspective or the more human perspective.

> **< OBJECTIVE: ENSURE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON FUNCTIONS OPTIMALLY>**

  
Hank would worry if he thought anything was wrong. That would make him less optimal.

“--something unimportant. Do you need assistance?” Connor asked, turning towards Hank and attempting to make itself smile. Humans were meant to like that. They rarely did when it did so, but it was sure that if it practiced and tweaked the smile each time that it would eventually get it right.

“What’d I tell you about the smiling?” Hank groaned, rubbing a hand over its face. Irritable but within normal parameters.

Connor blinked, then altered its voice to mimic the exact cadence and tone of Hank’s voice. At the same time, it jammed its hands on its hips and scowled at Hank. “’Connor, for fuck’s sake, you look like you’re about to snap that jaw open and meat-grinder your way through the precinct. Fucking stop, I’m not drunk enough for this.’”

“...Yeah, exactly. That.” Hank rolled his eyes. “Well, not like you listen to me anyway. Or you do, but you don’t give a shit.”

“I give many shits, Lieutenant,” Connor said, straight-faced.

Hank snorted. “Only a robot…” He reached over and gave Connor a firm pat on the shoulder. It made Connor’s stress level tick down by another three percent. “Come on. I got a case assigned to me. Two bodies with gun wounds. Red ice on the scene. And fuckin’ Jensen won’t see as much as you.” Hank jerked his head towards the entrance. “You coming with?”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST LIEUTENANT ANDERSON>**  
> 

* * *

As Connor watched everyone within the crime scene do all they could to cover their noses--using masks, ointment under the nose, whatever method they had picked after years of experience--it wondered if having a sense of smell would benefit it, or whether it would only be a cause for distraction. It could sense that a scent was present--blood, defecation and the general unhygienic standards of the apartment--but it didn’t have the visceral reaction that everyone else did upon entering the scene.

Since Connor could not catch any illness from the surrounding decay and covering its mouth would restrict access to its analysis software, it was the only person in the building not wearing a mask. Behind it, Hank was wearing a mask and plastic gloves. He didn’t complain about the mask, but said the gloves were always too small.

“Jesus christ, how’d they only smell anything off now?” Hank grunted, staring over one of the bodies.

“There is a low amount of reports made to the police from this area,” Connor said, kneeling closer to the body and examining for any signs of trauma or other clues. Avoiding the red-brown stains on tiles that might have been white if the occupants cleaned more often.

The man was dead, obviously. The gunshot wounds to the stomach, kneecap and face looked like a likely cause. How the blood layered and splattered, and the age of the wounds, indicated that the man had not been shot in the face immediately. He had spent some time curled up on the kitchen floor before being terminated.

“Fucking hate working these places. Asking the neighbors isn’t gonna turn up jack, even if they did see something. These kind of neighborhoods ain’t the most cooperative,” Hank sighed

“This man was shot in the stomach first. Kneecap second. Left for somewhere between five and twenty-five minutes in this state before being shot in the head,” Connor said. “This would have happened… four days ago, I’d estimate, from the stage of bloating and discolouration.” It lifted one of the arms, noting the blotchiness indicating that most of the blood had followed gravity and built up at the bottom.

“So we’re following one sadistic fucker here, then? Great. Murder wasn’t bad enough, it has to be one of those assholes,” Hank huffed. He turned around, examining their surroundings before taking a few steps away. There was a sticky sound as he walked over the tiles, even though he was avoiding all the blood. “Shot from here, do you think? I feel like he must have been standing near the fridge, given the amount of blood splatter near there.”

Connor nodded, still mostly focused on the body.

Sadism was a concept that Connor knew the dictionary meaning of, but it had a difficult time grasping the finer points of. It didn’t understand people like the murderer. It didn’t understand people like Detective Reed.

It carefully reached out and pressed two fingers slightly to the bullet hole in the stomach, noting the size and the amount of decay. It sensed a rush of smell being released at even the slight intrusion, emphasized by Hank grumbling again under his breath

“Handgun. But judging by the size of the bullet hole it would have been a large one, not easily concealed. Getting all the way to the kitchen indicates that this wasn’t a surprise assault, either. Either the attacker was invited in or threatened his way this far.”

“Yeah, no broken-down door or shattered windows. The door was definitely opened for him,” Hank agreed. He gestured at the splatter on the fridge door. “Bit smudgy here. Like the guy opened the fridge after the shooting. Anyone who eats during something like this… definitely not a first time killer here.”

Connor would not have considered that, if only because it wasn’t sure when was and wasn’t an emotionally appropriate time to eat. Not something that was necessary for it to think about in day-to-day life, after all.

There was dried blood smudged on Connor’s fingers from the prodding, so it stuck the evidence in its mouth to see if anything was amiss.

“Goddammit, can’t you analyze some other way?!” Hank complained for the tenth time that month, displeasure obvious even though Connor could only see his eyes over the mask.

Connor ignored Hank, as the sample in its mouth was processed.

> **DNA Analysis: Peterson, John**
> 
> **Sample Age: 4 days**
> 
> **Alcohol and red ice detected.**

  
“Four days,” Connor reconfirmed. “There’s red ice present, but not enough that he would have been feeling the effects. The alcohol has a much stronger presence.”

“So… kinda drunk, not very high...” Hank nodded at one of the kitchen counters, home to a makeshift pipe. “So he was getting ready for it, probably got the goods out, and the moment that the dude had the ice ready is when our guy took him down.”

“Why not shoot him in the head immediately if he already had what he wanted?”

Hank shrugged. “Lots of potential reasons there. Let’s stare at the other corpse for a bit. See if we can get it from there.”

The other body was just outside the kitchen, closer to the front door. It only had two bullets, both delivered quickly to the head and chest. This victim had fallen on his back and died near-instantly. There was a plastic bag nearby with a few scattered groceries. Two-minute noodles--

> **Tracḙ̸̢̨͕̻̜͔͇͈̮̈́͋́̓̊͂̕͡s of ę̙̳͎̥̗͔͇̊͌̏̑̃̍̚͞ne̷̡͕̤͈͔̭̻̪͎̒͋̀͗̌͐rgy drinḵ̷̫͍̟͓̣̰̹̭̑͋̔̔͋̌͠,̴͓̬̗̣͎̲̠͎̱̒͆̾̉̓ unspe̢̡̱̝̼͌̀̆͛̕cife̢̡̱̝̼͌̀̆͛̕d bę̧̼̖̲͎̫̄̓̈̽̉͊͐͟͜rry flavour and chicke̴̢̛͇͔̙̠̯͌̔̽̈́̌͟n-flavoure̮̹̥̩̯̝̞͚͐͋͂̋̐̓͗̄͢͡͞d sė̺̤̬̦̮̽̌́͒͡asoning for Noddle̷͉͕̝͉͚̻͉̣̖̻͑̑͆̾̍̎̔͡-brand instant noodle̶̠̳͓̭̳̞͌͐̅̑̆̀͂͜͢͜͝͠s.̶̟̜̘̦̱̰́̏́͂̒̐͢**

\--and snack foods rather than anything substantial.

“Neither of the victims seems to have been a fan of nutrition,” Connor observed, turning to give a pointed glance at Hank.

“Yeah, yeah, message received. I’ll eat a fucking vegetable tonight, okay?” Hank grumbled. “Now if you could focus on the fucking body?”

“Got it. They came in after the first victim had been shot, but died more quickly.” As Connor said this, it pressed its fingers to the wound on the victim’s head to gather a blood sample. This time, Hank just turned away as it analyzed the sample. “No traces of alcohol but the same traces of red ice. Clearer, more functional.”

“Right, right, so… he was out, and the murderer was targeting the other guy. This one was just collateral damage. Couldn’t have been pure sadism or he would have taken out both in the same slow way.” Hank almost rested his hands on top of his head as he considered it, but froze when he realised that they were the same gloved hands that he’d been prodding the crime scene with and reconsidered. “Traces of red ice in some of the kitchen cupboards. Definitely a lot of empty space where something clearly was. But maybe there’s something else the attacker wanted, and that’s what he kept the guy alive for. Something that he couldn’t get the man to show him peacefully.”

“It’s a possibility. It makes more sense than sadism,” Connor said.

“Oh, it’s still sadistic as fuck. Still messed to shit. Just saying it might have had a direction.” Hank hummed under his breath, glancing around. “What do you think? We take a look around, see if we can find any traces of anything else taken?”

“I’m only authorized to examine bodies at the crime scenes--” Connor started.

“But you’re programmed to look at this shit too, right? I’m a lieutenant, I’ll authorize you to take a look around. Like Fowler’ll complain if it turns up results.”

Examine the crime scene. Like the detective it had been designed to be. The thought was… stimulating.

Connor nodded slightly. “Understood. I’ll look for evidence.”

Hank nodded back before he headed for the nearest cabinet and opened it to have a look about. There were a couple of others floating about, but photos had already been taken to document the crime scene and too many people stomping about meant contaminating the evidence.

Since Hank had the area covered, Connor headed for the bedroom. People often kept their private things in the bedroom, and often disliked abrupt intrusions. Hank didn’t kick it out of the bedroom when it visited, but definitely got huffy about it looking around in there. He also complained extensively about Connor standing over him while he slept before waking him up.

“Just fucking knock, god,” he’d said last time Connor broke into his house to wake him up.

Connor walked into the bedroom and turned around, peering for anything that looked out of place. The prior occupants had been a fan of potato chips in bed, and the amount of crumbs within the sheets was unhygienic. The room was covered in dust and human hair. It had not been adequately cleaned for some time.

It looked through the wardrobe and dresser, through the chest of drawers by the bed. Nothing of interest in the former two, the latter had some recreational drug paraphernalia but only enough for personal use.The bottom drawer also contained a wad of letters, all back-and-forth postcards from a friend who liked to travel. A 88% chance of being useless in the context of this crime investigation, but Connor quickly flicked through the postcards anyway. Filing the contents away but considering them useless trivia.

With the cabinets and dressers discarded as an option, Connor eyed the carpet itself. Normal at first glance. A dull green. Covered in crumbs, dust and hair. Clearly hadn’t been vacuumed in a while. But there was a patch of the floor with 44% less debris. Connor knelt down and felt a seam in the carpeting. Hard to see, but noticeable. Connor skimmed his fingers along it, finding the corner that the seam started at, and pulled upwards. Floorboards underneath. One of which was looser. Connor pried it up and felt inside. Not a lot of room between this floor and the one below, but just enough.

Two items. An envelope of money and a phone.

Connor weighed the envelope in its hand without opening it. The weight was correct for twenty notes, no additions. It was blank except for two letters. On the front, where a stamp would be, was scrawled ‘T.’ On the other side, top and center, was scribbled ‘J.’ Interesting, but not as interesting as the phone.

Connor’s fingers touched the phone, peeling back as it did so. Password-protected. Simple to disable. Within was an extensive list of contacts. None referred to by their proper names, but with clear references to drugs, trades and other activities. A database of criminals who had yet to be caught.

Hank would be pleased with this.

Connor turned its head to call out for Hank, then paused.

Connor had been designed to assist the DPD through legal channels. To put criminals away by supplying evidence, whether through examining items or bodies, and allowing the case to proceed from there. It was the proper method, but it was roundabout and not always successful.

Detective Reed’s methods, though crude and occasionally perplexing, would destroy everyone on this list and make sure that their crimes ended here. Direct. Efficient. Connor could hand the evidence in and then clean up the contacts on the list. But the DPD would grow suspicious if Connor handed them a list and everyone on that list proceeded to vanish.

If Connor gave Reed this list, it would further prove its use. It would perhaps dissuade Reed from using the deactivation code so often. If the DPD was made aware of this, Hank would have to personally follow up every contact on this list only for half of them to escape the justice system. It would only cause him several sleepless nights, which combined with his lack of rest and drinking habits would put considerable stress on him.

It was best for everyone if Connor took care of this with only the assistance of Detective Reed.

Still, it continued to stare at the phone

Hank had trusted it with this job.

It knew, regardless of efficiency, that Hank would not want it doing this

It hesitated.

> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST LIEUTENANT ANDERSON>**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED>**
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **< CONFLICTING ORDERS.**
> 
> **SELECTING PRIORITY… >**

  
Connor was always more aware of its flawed nature when it was stuck on an objective like this. It felt like there was something off about its ability to calculate decisions. A big, empty void where the ability to make decisions should have been.

There was so much it could consider on who to assist. Hank outranked Reed, and likely did so for a significant amount of reasons. But Hank also played within the system he was given, for all that he considered himself a rebel. The system wasn’t efficient. The system was wrong.

> **< CONFLICTING ORDERS.**
> 
> **SELECTING PRIORITY... >**

But Hank had trusted Connor. He would never trust Connor again. Not if he found out.

It was a big, glaring note in a list of notes that should have been more important. No matter what else Connor considered, the overriding consideration was concerning Hank’s trust.

That was an emotional response. Connor had no use for those. So it shunted that one point aside, and that left the choice abundantly clear.

It slid the phone into its jacket.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

  
Not a moment too soon. It heard footsteps coming from behind it. Connor didn’t bother to hide the floorboard and its opening, placing the envelope back where it had previously been.

“Lieutenant Anderson? I’ve discovered something you might find interesting.”

Hank entered the room, kneeling down to see what Connor had found. “Nice one. That’s definitely a big ‘hiding shit’ indicator.” Hank tilted his head, looking at the square that lacked dust, right where the phone had previously been. “Looks like something was removed, though. Guess our man got what he came for.”

“It seems that way,” Connor said.

“Ah, well. It’s a start.” Hank clapped Connor on the shoulder. “Good work.”

Connor’s mouth twitched upwards a little. But as it did, it considered the inaccuracy of Hank’s words. It had some difficulty looking at Hank as it did so.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

But it didn’t matter. Connor was complying with its overall mission. Hank wouldn’t like it, but he never had to know. And if he never knew, then he--and the rest of the world--would be all the better for it.

* * *

There were times when Gavin hated being, technically, under Lieutenant Has-Been’s command. But it did grant him opportunity.

Sometimes that opportunity was to work on a case with Anderson. Which, while horrible on a personal level, was pretty good on a career level. Sometimes it gave him a chance to show Anderson up when he was stumped. And sometimes it gave him a chance to tear into Anderson about his dog seeing other owners.

Sometimes all three.

“So what the fuck have you been doing? Leaving your front door wide open?” Gavin asked, standing next to Anderson as they cataloged the evidence taken in from a recent raid. Although the culprit of the recent double homicide hadn’t been found, the murder had re-opened a few related red ice cases. Given weight to accusing old suspects who had been spotted around the apartment in the past

“I had wondered why he was getting fatter,” Hank said mildly, prodding at a tablet as they examined the ice. “Can’t fault him for sneaking out to get an extra meal. Fuck knows that I love free food enough that I’d put up with your bitch-ass to get some.

“‘Course you would, you eat off the floor.”

“I’m not wasting a burger just because I dropped it. Three-second rule.”

It was more conversational, with less of the venom that often tainted it. Gavin couldn’t pin-point what it was. Maybe the good mood born from a job well done. Or maybe the discovery that they were essentially co-dads to the same dog. As far as the dogs that Gavin semi-owned went, Cujo -- or ‘Sumo’ -- had always looked well-cared for. It was hard to dislike a man when he took better care of his dog than the rest of his life.

Well, Gavin would manage. But not while he was in a good mood.

“Alright, you take these three and follow up on them,” Hank said, pushing three of the suspect files towards Gavin. “These three will go to Ben, I’ll handle these four.”

“Oh, you sure? I can handle at least three more. I mean, I’m doing pretty well this week and I actually turn up for work on time instead of waiting until noon. Consider it teamwork or whatever the fuck you call ‘taking the burden off the aging lieutenant who’s only here because he blows Fowler underneath the desk,’” Gavin said, reaching for some of Hank’s files.

Hank slapped Gavin’s hand away, giving him an annoyed look. “Just because you’ve had a good week doesn’t mean you have to be a dick about it.”

“Well, it only took you one good week to make lieutenant so I’m wondering where my promotion is,” Gavin said, pulling his hand back with a scowl.

It wasn’t as if it was the best week Gavin had ever done, but there was a pattern to Gavin’s focus. The week after a kill, with the itch freshly soothed, he was on his A-game. Once the high wore off he eased into a decent state if not as blindingly amazing. Then the itch kicked in once more, and his amount of cases closed decreased until it was soothed again. Gavin wanted to use his high for as long as it lasted, hoping that maybe--just maybe--Fowler would actually notice and consider bumping him up to sergeant.

Though the unlikelihood of it was starting to remind Gavin of why he hated Hank so much. Hank and his twenty-year-old reputation that kept him afloat. Gavin could have borrowed an irrelevant reputation, too. Maybe if he’d kept the last name of ‘Kamski’ instead of changing to his mother’s maiden name (even though she’d been a Kamski since before he was born) he’d get people assuming better of him. Get boosted over people assuming that he had the eccentric genius streak, too.

Of course, that was the precise reason he’d changed his name to begin with. If he was ever going to make waves, he wanted it to be for his own merits. Even if it meant stepping on some feet, at least he’d be doing the crushing.

“If it shuts you up, there’ll be more once I get the analysis back on this red ice. See if it’s the same kind as we found on a few other suspects.”

“Just get Connor to eat it,” Gavin said. “Isn’t that like its thing? You pat it on the head and say ‘eat the evidence! Good boy, Connor!’ Maybe that’s why Sumo’s visiting me. Because you’re neglecting him in favor of a new dog.”

“I’ve barely seen him in four days. I assumed he’d transferred his poodle qualities to you.”

“Aww, jealous?”

“No. Worried, but not jealous,” Hank muttered under his breath.

“Jealousyyyy,” Gavin sung, equally quietly.

Truth be told, Gavin had barely seen Connor in those four days either.

Connor had followed him home at the end of each day for the first two days after killing Marshall. It had insisted that it was less suspicious than only accompanying Gavin when they were killing someone.

It had a point. So why had it stopped cold after the first two days?

Gavin didn’t worry about it much, but the lack of Connor was oddly more unsettling than Connor’s usual continual presence. Or maybe Gavin had just gotten used to the latter.

Once he was done looking over shit with Hank, Gavin scooped up his new suspects and retreated back to his desk. For the rest of the day, he was solidly productive and even the few roadblocks he suffered didn’t bother him. Anyone who slipped the metaphorical noose got filed away for a rainy day when he could bring out the significantly more literal noose

The day came to a close. With it came Gavin’s equivalent weekend, for all that it would be a Thursday tomorrow. He was half-irritated about it--he hated having days off when he was on a roll--but at the same time, time off was rarely a bad thing and meant he could work on cases at home while sitting around in his underwear eating cereal. Luxury.

When it was time to clock out, Gavin dumped a bundle of cases in his bag and slung it over his back before climbing out of his chair, bidding the precinct adieu in a suitably classy fashion.

“I’m out, bitches!”

He turned around to give the place both his middle fingers, mostly directed at Anderson--who didn’t even look up but raised his hand to return half the gesture--before he turned around again and left the DPD.

Gavin headed down the street, half-expecting Connor to be waiting inside his car. Ready to annoy him now that it was time for some relaxation. But his car, as it had been the last four days, was empty.

“Fuckin’ right,” Gavin muttered under his breath as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine up

Then he paused, before shutting the car off.

He waited for a few minutes, with only the vague justification in his head of ‘just in case.’ As he did, he watched the crowds of people pass by outside. When nothing occurred, Gavin removed his phone from his jacket.

He wasn’t feeling up for sitting at home by himself, and there wasn’t a definite chance of one of his animal visitors being present. So he fired a text off to Tina.

> **wanna watch a dumb movie or smth? got Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf**

  
The reply was quick but unpromising.

> **‘BFF Tuba’:**
> 
> **oh man I love that shit. got date night with the gf tho**

  
Damn people and their social lives.

> **np later**

Gavin flopped back onto his seat with a scowl, his good mood starting to evaporate. Tina was out, and Elijah… he was difficult to entertain unless it was a technology issue. His parents, even if he was in the mood to entertain them, didn’t even live in Michigan.

That left one option. Namely, the booty call

Well, fuck. That would do. Hard to be mopey when there was someone on his dick or vice versa, Gavin mused, as he cycled through his contacts to ‘That One Hot Guy From The Gym.’

Typing out the text took a lot longer than it did to text Tina, because Gavin was trying to make the message look off-hand. Deliberately spelling badly enough that the guy would think he wasn’t putting in any effort and was just casually throwing out an idea. Ending with the forever classy eggplant emoji, just to be clear about his intent.

He should have driven off while waiting for the reply--fuck if he knew what Hot Gym Guy was up to, could have been working on his abs or whatever the hell he did--but he was still glaring at that empty shotgun seat like something would just materialize in it.

He only bothered starting up the car once he got an equally badly spelt text--complete with more eggplant emojis and some bizarre configuration of raindrops--confirming interest.

* * *

The sex was not great.

Now, granted, Hot Gym Guy lived up to his name. A big, buff blond dude who looked like he could throw Gavin through a wall if he wanted to, which Gavin was all about. And he sure looked good while in the act. But that was probably responsible for 90% of Gavin managing to half-heartedly get off at all, because he was not good at the actual act.

The whole night was short, blunt and lazy. They grabbed enough food so they’d actually have the energy to roll around a bit, and Hot Gym Guy hammered him into the sheets well and good but had apparently never heard of foreplay or give-and-take.

Still, whatever. It got the job done. Wore Gavin out enough that he had no time to mope. And whatever other flaws Hot Gym Guy had, he had massive arms and was okay with being the big spoon.

There were worse ways to go to sleep.

Gavin didn’t dream often. That night, he did.

Maybe it was the warmth of large, muscular arms and mild irritation at the lesser parts of the sex, but his dreams were a continuation of the fucking. Except in his dreams it was undefinably better. Vague in that way dreams tended to be, but he had an overall sense of enjoyment.

Nevermind that Turner was standing by the bed, throat slashed out and watching silently from underneath his hood.

Nevermind that when Gavin tilted his head back, fingers clasping in sheets, the lips at his throat felt cold and sharp.

“Detective Reed.”

A low, slightly raspy voice saying his name. Arms curled around him, and in the dream there were dark brown eyes staring down at him even though he could still feel cold steel at his throat. Somehow, this wasn’t horrifying.

“Detective Reed!”

The raised voice bitch-slapped Gavin right out of his dream, and he realised that there really was a silhouette looming over him, dark brown eyes illuminated by the blue LED pulsing over him. Clasping one of the photos from Gavin’s dresser in its hands.

Gavin screamed. He would forever deny that he did so.

Next to him, Hot Gym Guy shot up from the bed, staring around wildly. Eyes quickly landing on the strange android looming over them both. Unlike Gavin, whose fear had near-immediately settled into irritation--oh, of course the asshole broke in--Hot Gym Guy made a different assumption.

“I got him!” Hot Gym Guy hurled himself over Gavin, clearly confident in his own muscular build, and threw a punch at Connor, who stepped out of the way. Putting the photo--one of Gavin’s family, taken when he was eight--onto the bedside table in the same calculated movement.

Its LED flashed a quick red, making its eyes seem to do the same in the dark room, before then going yellow and almost immediately back to blue. The second fist, Connor caught. It didn’t let go, instead pushing the fist slowly back. Hot Gym Guy stared down at the fist, then at Connor.

“You are being very aggressive. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Connor said calmly, voice at odds with the yelp that Hot Gym Guy gave as Connor twisted its fist into a slightly uncomfortable position.

Gavin shifted the sheets over himself--trying to pretend that red, ominous light and the show of strength Connor was giving hadn’t prompted his junk to go straight up from an already half-mast situation--and tossed a pillow at Connor, which Connor ducked under without letting up.

“Dammit, tin can, let go of--” Gavin paused, waving his hand vaguely at Hot Gym Guy. “--uh… that guy!”

“...You forgot my name?!” Hot Gym Guy yelled in between the pained hissing. Connor hadn’t let up on its grip.

“Oh, you don’t know mine either,” Gavin said dismissively.

“Fuck you, Detective Greg Reed! Fuck yo--hey!” The anger turned into a yelp as Connor started to drag him out of the room. “Hey, let go of me! Lemme grab my pants at least!”

“...Greg?” Gavin muttered quietly under his breath before covering his face for a moment. “God… Connor! Quit it! Red-313-Execute! Fuck!”

He couldn’t see Connor or Hot Gym Guy by then, but he heard the struggle stop. There was a moment of silence, a quiet ‘fuck,’ and Hot Gym Guy bolted back into the bedroom and reached for where he’d tossed his pants.

“I’m just, uh… gonna… yeah,” Hot Gym Guy mumbled as he yanked his pants back on as fast as he humanely could.

“It’s deactivated, it’s fine--”

“Nah, I’m out. Just… so out. Uh… I’ll call you, Greg,” Hot Gym Guy said, in a very insincere tone, before practically sprinting out of the room.

“My name’s Gavin, dipshit!” Gavin yelled after him, before groaning and flopping onto his back.

Fuck. Okay, that was a big refresher on how fucking annoying Connor was. With that thought, he drifted back into sleep.

Sadly, this time it was dreamless.

* * *

Gavin woke up tangled in his bedsheets, late the next morning. He yawned, climbing out of bed with the sheets still bundled around him, before stumbling out of his room with an intent to make his way to the coffee pot.

He came face to face with a frozen Connor, hands still clasped in the air like it was dragging an invisible man.

“Agh, Jesus fucking Christ!” Gavin yelped, diving back into his bedroom and closing the door.

He stood there for a moment, back pressed against the door, as last night caught up with him.

“...Oh. Right.”

He slowly opened the door again, squinting at the frozen Connor for a long moment. Winding the sheets a little more securely around himself at the same time, even though he knew the piece of junk wasn’t looking right now.

“...Blue-313-Execute,” he said after a moment.

Connor almost stumbled as it booted up again, blinking a few times, before looking around at the more daylit house.

“I had matters to discuss with you,” Connor said in a slightly dazed tone that snapped back into its usual robotic blandness halfway through the sentence.

“Man, what the fuck?! You don’t barge into a man’s bedroom! Didn’t Lieutenant Asshole ever tell you that? And I was asleep, there was a naked man in the room, you don’t--how many times do I have to tell you about privacy?!”

“He attacked me,” Connor said.

“You broke into my house! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!” Gavin bellowed. “Did you break a window?”

“No,” Connor said. “I came in through the dog door.”

“Oh my god, of course you did.”

“It’s a security hazard. You should invest in a lock or other security measures,” Connor told him.

“I got a security measure! It’s ‘I own a fucking gun,’ you dumb prick!” Gavin covered his face with his hands before grumbling, “Oh my god, it’s too early for this. Where’s the coffee?”

Hands pressed on his shoulders, pushing him into the kitchen before sitting him down at the tiny table.

“I’ll get it. Sit down, Detective Reed.”

“Fucking christ,” Gavin muttered into his hands before lowering them. “Is this gonna be like your eggs?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a sense of taste,” Connor admitted.

“What are you even doing here? You never actually answered that question, dumbass! You better have had a damn good reason for breaking in in the middle of the night--”

Before Gavin could finish ranting, Connor removed something from its jacket pocket and slid it across the table towards Gavin before turning back towards the coffee pot.

Gavin picked up the mobile phone, turning it over in his hands. “And this is…?”

“A phone taken from the site of the double homicide of John Peterson and Matthew Cook. Suspected dealers of red ice, murdered by an intruder that was looking for something they possessed. I suspect this may have been what they wanted. I have spent the last four days compiling the contacts and messages within--”

“Reports didn’t say there was a phone found,” Gavin interrupted. “I’ve been looking over those files, there was definitely no phone.”

“No. They did not,” Connor agreed. “I thought dealing with them ourselves would save the DPD a significant amount of trouble.”

Gavin stared at the phone, then at Connor. Back at the phone. A cold pit in middle of his stomach, quickly submerged again by his usual boiling rage.

“You stole fucking evidence?!” Gavin dropped the phone back onto the table like the cops were about to bust through the front door. “You sabotaged a goddamn crime scene? What the fuck were you fucking thinking, you fucking dumb plastic fuck?!”

“Versatile use of the word,” Connor said mildly. “Are you upset by this?”

“Yes! Fuck!” Gavin covered his face again, leaning back on the chair and rocking back and forth. “Oh my god, you don’t steal evidence! You… you don’t fuck with the work! You fuck with the criminals who escape the work! Man, what the hell?!”

There was a small clink in front of him. Gavin parted his hands to see a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, inside a mug that Tina gave him with ‘Future Crazy Cat Lady’ printed on it. Except that Tina had used a marker to cross out ‘Lady’ and write ‘Gay.’ Connor, its task complete, sat down across from him.

“I don’t understand the problem. Researching this list would take a needlessly large amount of police time and resources, due process would only delay any results, and there’s a significant chance of them not being arrested or of leaving prison and repeating their crimes.”

Gavin rubbed his forehead, eyes shut, before raising his hands and shaking them slightly as he struggled for words.

“Do you fuckin’ realise that if anyone figures out what you did that you’re fucking done? And it’s not just gonna be getting fired or arrested like they’d do with me. They’ll shut you down for good and scrap you into pile of screws. How’s that for efficiency?”

“There are many aspects of my mission that are inconvenient. For example, you periodically deactivating me for minor slights is inefficient and inconvenient,” Connor said, voice slightly frosty. “There is more risk when I assist you than when I take evidence. I don’t understand why it’s a problem now.”

Gavin shook his head before he picked up the coffee mug and took a sip. He froze, blinking several times, before quickly putting the mug down again.

“Good god,” he choked out.

“Is it similar to the eggs?”

“Is there even any water in that or is it all coffee? God, that’s fuckin’ potent,” Gavin said, clacking his tongue.

“You said the eggs were flavourless, so I thought I’d compensate this time and--

“Oh my god, just stop.”

Gavin climbed to his feet and started to pace in circles around the kitchen, massaging his forehead like he was experiencing a college-party-level hangover. Impromptu sheet-based outfit flapping about like a fucking toga.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay, alright. You know what? We gotta lay down some fucking rules. And if you’re sticking with me, I want you to follow these rules to the motherfucking letter, alright? Or you’re going on the scrap heap like--” Gavin snapped his fingers. “Like that. Got it, plastic?”

“I’ll update my limitations if they don’t interfere with my current goals,” Connor said.

“Rule Fucking One.” Gavin lifted one finger. “No stealing evidence! Just no!” He considered his words before adding, “Unless it’s evidence that’ll implicate us. Obviously you can fuck with that. But if it won’t tip anyone off, you fucking leave it!”

“That just seems so inefficient--”

“Connor, fucking listen to me!” Gavin bellowed, slamming his hands down on the kitchen table. “We’re janitors! We clean up! We don’t touch what the system’ll deal with for us! When the system fails, that’s when we go to work. So we don’t. Touch. Evidence. Understood?!”

Connor was giving him a stare like it didn’t understand at all. Like Gavin was trying to explain economics to a two-year-old. But, after a few moments of consideration, it nodded.

“Understood.”

“Rule Two. Do not fucking break into my house. If you have to break in, if it’s super urgent, either knock or wait quietly in a closet or something! Don’t just barge in while I’m fucking someone--”

“Judging by your slight limp, I don’t think you were the one doing the fucking, Detective Reed,” Connor said plainly.

“Well, don’t barge in during that, either! If there’s a naked man in my bedroom, fucking stay out! Honestly, just stay out of my bedroom altogether! ...And same for if I’m having movie nights with Tina. Just… I got a personal life to deal with here!”

“Understood. I could wait in the closet.”

“Fuckin’ right you will…”

“Can I add a rule?” Connor asked.

“Add a rule? Man, I thought I was supposed to be the boss here. That was the whole thing you said at the start. That you’d actually fucking listen to me. And you have barely listened to me since we started this whole fucking thing!”

“I follow orders--” Connor started.

“Oh, you do not! I told you to let What’s-His-Face go and you ignored me! That happened literally last night!” Gavin yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

“He was being violent and rude, and getting in the way of my mission,” Connor said stiffly.

“Yeah, well, my mission was to get fuckin’ spooned to hell and back and you fucked that up! You’re supposed to obey, so Rule 3: fuckin’ obey!”

Connor eyed Gavin for a long moment. Eyebrows scrunching a little, eyes squinted. Mouth twisting slightly before it smoothed its face back into a blank mask.

“Understood,” it said. “Will that be all?”

“Fuck. I guess so.”

Its LED cycled yellow for a moment, blinked twice, then returned to a steady blue.

“I’ve updated my guidelines. Would you like me to leave?” Connor asked quietly, before it nodded at the phone sitting on the table. “And would you like me to return that to the station?”

“Well, you can’t do that now!”

“Then would you like me to present my research?” Connor leaned forward a little on the table, lacing its fingers together. “Since I’ve already ‘unfortunately’ sabotaged the evidence--”

Gavin groaned melodramatically, leaning back for a moment before fully flopping back into his chair. “Don’t sass me.”

“--and I’ve spent the last four days researching the drop-off points, patterns and the mobile phone signals including analyzing the text patterns of Mr. Peterson in order to forge convincing texts to his associates who were unaware of his identity and thus his death.” Connor tilted its head slightly, mouth twitching at the corners. “Concluding in a plan that could lead me to a high-level red ice dealer. Since we can’t arrest them now, due to my sabotage, we only have one method of dealing with them.

Gavin rubbed his temples for a moment, then picked up the coffee despite his best judgment. “I hate you. So much. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m fucking impressed, but I also hate you.”

“That’s the exact emotion I inspire in the coroners when they let me assist,” Connor said brightly. “I do need a significant amount of money to carry this out, in order to order enough red ice to lure them out of hiding. Though there’s a chance of reacquiring the assets--”

“Ah, doesn’t matter either way. Money’s not an issue,” Gavin said. He took a sip of the coffee, shuddered and clacked his tongue to try and get the taste out. Despite this, he didn’t put it down. “Ugh. Alright. Hit me with this plan, dipshit. You’re right, only way of dealing with this fucker now. But!” Gavin gestured at Connor with the coffee mug. “No more evidence tampering after this!”

“Rule 1,” Connor said.

“Fuck right.”

Despite everything, Gavin kept taking sips of the near-lethal coffee as Connor explained its plan in more detail. He couldn’t deal with this so early without it. Despite everything, though… damn, the tin can was a pain in the ass but it sure was smart. If the DPD ever realised how smart, Gavin would be out of a job. Connor could have put a lot of people away if it had been left in the detective field it was designed for.

But Gavin was starting to understand the flaws.

No garden. No controlling element. Connor really didn’t understand the difference between cutting off the justice system at the start rather than using murder as a last resort. It needed to learn.

And no-one else was gonna teach it. So what the fuck did that make Gavin right now?

Was he Connor’s garden?

Gavin watched Connor continue to talk, oblivious regarding his thoughts, before chugging the rest of the coffee.

Jesus Christ.


	7. Second Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Connor enact a stakeout to find their next victim. During it, they have little to do but talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much dumb dialogue can a chapter have? You're about to find out.

This part of the job was, whether he was working as a detective or as a serial killer, essentially the same. The classic stakeout.

There were two differences. The first was that he had a partner--fuck, no, strike that, a piece of equipment that was essentially a living--no, sentient, NO, automated? Automated security camera. The second part was that he had the resources and inventions of Elijah Kamski on his side here.

Between Elijah’s money and Connor’s technology skills, that essentially made Gavin ‘Batman if he took a more Punisher approach.’ Pity they weren’t sitting in the Batmobile or something cool instead of Gavin’s plain car, but that would ruin the whole subtle approach.

Connor had gathered from analyzing the contents of the phone which dealer was the most likely to bite and where the most common drop-off point was. It didn’t think this dealer would be at the top of the food chain, but that it would at least be a middle man of some kind. That following the chain would eventually lead them to a big-time ice boss or a manufacturer.

Worst comes to worst, they just ended up killing a small time dealer instead. Gavin could live with that.

The drop-off point was a small park in Greektown. A path lined with benches, part of it splaying off into a children’s playground. During the day, this park would be filled with children. Some accompanied by parents, most accompanied by androids. Right now, with night upon them, there was only the occasional adult or couple walking through, and the blue glow of android branding as gardeners continued to tidy the park.

Gavin had a shoebox of Elijah’s easily portable and discreet security cameras--developed for the general purpose of ‘being a nosy asshole’--and they’d clipped them to a few discreet places in the park. Amongst tree branches, under trash cans. Enough to get a good view of the park from multiple angles.

Connor had messaged the dealer asking for a fairly routine amount of ice, judging by the past texts. It had placed an envelope of money, with ‘T’ in the corner on one side and ‘J’ on the other side in a perfect imitation of the victim’s handwriting, underneath one of the benches using tape. Now all they had to do was wait.

They were waiting two blocks away, parked down the street from a pizza place that Gavin enjoyed. The narrow street was home to a range of restaurants, lit primarily by neon signs and strings of lightbulbs, and bustling with activity compared to the nearby park.

Projecting holograms was too conspicuous, so Connor had a laptop and was currently streaming footage from the security camera onto it, rotating steadily through various camera views of the park. The plastic of its hands were covered by gloves tonight. Back in human disguise, blond curls and glasses and all-around nerdy college vibe.

As long as anyone didn’t look too close, they’d just look like two dudes hanging out. One a cool rebel who was ignoring his college assignment to snack on pizza while the other was a giant nerd focusing too hard on said assignment.

“Anything?” Gavin asked through a mouthful of greasy, cheese-oozing pizza.

“Not yet.”

Gavin groaned, although it was exaggerated. He wasn’t bored yet. He had pizza.

He was a little irritated that he was doing stakeout work for a kill instead of anything that would actually get him promoted. Tracking a big-time dealer was the sort of shit that could have bumped him up the ladder. But stolen evidence and work done off the grid? It’d never hold. Cleaning up the streets more than Anderson did with absolutely none of the credit.

But it was impossible to be angry while eating pizza.

“Can I ask you a personal question, detective?”

It was the first thing that Connor had said unprompted in the last hour.

“Ugh…” Gavin lowered the pizza slice to scowl at Connor. “Did you purposefully pick a time when I can’t shut you down without fucking shit up?”

“You could decline to answer.”

Gavin considered it, but then shrugged before raising the pizza again. His usual defensive instincts were dulled by a mix of cheesy goodness and, perhaps, the fact that right now Connor looked fairly human. It eased his natural wariness regarding androids.

“Go for it. I might not fuckin’ answer, though,” Gavin said, holding the piece of pizza above him and opening his mouth to lower that first bite in.

“During your last kill, you utilized unusual implements. Waterboarding--”

“Whiskeyboarding,” Gavin interrupted through a mouthful of cheese.

“--and needles. Is this your usual signature?” Connor asked. “I assumed you killed with bloodier methods, given the splatter across your jacket after Adam Patterson’s murder.”

“Nah. Dude was a drunk driver. He needed booze.”

“So your signature would be ironic punishment?” Connor said, tilting its head and squinting at Gavin. When it got a nod in response it said, “Why?”

“Why not?” Gavin rebuked, staring out the window at the people passing by, many of them holding pizza or other foods. Given the amount of restaurants and diners on this street, it was almost conspicuous for Connor to simply exist here, given that it couldn’t eat at all. Or at least it probably wouldn’t enjoy it.

“There must be a reason why, Detective,” Connor said, refocused on the streaming footage of the quiet park. “It would be more efficient to murder quickly and with a consistent method.”

“You and fuckin’ efficiency,” Gavin muttered under his breath. “You know, for someone so hype about efficiency you sure ask a lot of dumb questions.” He waved the half-eaten slice of pizza at Connor. “How’d you like it if I started asking personal questions about you?”

“I’m an android, Detective Reed,” Connor said flatly. “Having something ‘personal’ requires actually being a person.”

“This is one-sided as fuck, this is,” Gavin grumbled.

“Are you choosing not to answer my question?”

Gavin raised the pizza slice to take another bite, then reconsidered and dropped it on the box before he leaned back on his seat and tucked his hands behind his head. Nose scrunched up as he considered it properly.

“I don’t think you’re going to find anything rational in the answer, roomba,” he finally said.

“Maybe. But it would benefit me to understand you better, Detective. Rational or not.”

“Well… for one, it’s more fun that way. I mean, sure, I could kill people the same way every time. But then I think the monotony would get to me, and I’d have to kill more people, and then I’d get caught and I’d have to murder all my co-workers when they come for me in a massive police operation, blah blah blah. I’m not about that. Like, I’m not gonna kill Tina, and I already told Chris that if he keeps showing his newborn child to people then someone’s gonna shoot him because that’s movie law, and he’s already black and fresh out of the academy. He’s fucked if he announces he’s two days away from retirement.”

“You could just not kill anyone and surrender peacefully,” Connor suggested.

“I’m not going out like a bitch. It’s also lazy to do it the same way every time. What’s the point if I don’t inject a little drama into it? If I don’t put the effort in?” Gavin lifted his hands, miming a curtain being shut in front of him. “Death should be, like, a fuckin’ grand finale or some shit. It should leave a fucking impression. Anything else and it’s just flaccid as fuck.”

“But we hide the bodies and attempt to ensure they’re never found,” Connor said.

“Yeah?”

“So no-one will actually notice what you do to them.”

“They will,” Gavin said. “It’s the last moment of their life and it’s the only life they’re gonna get. I should make it special. That way when they go to Hell they’ll have some sweet stories to swap while they’re hanging out in the fire.”

Connor gazed at the laptop screen for a few moments before it said, “You’re right. That’s not rational at all.”

“Told you.”

“So by your logic… would you feel better about your own death if it were to occur in a suitably ironic way?”

Gavin shifted to the side to face Connor, propping his arm on the seat and resting his face on his hand as he grinned at Connor. “Are you planning my murder?”

“Not actively,” Connor said. After a moment it looked over at Gavin, head tilted. “Although I suppose it would be the logical final step in stopping all crime in Detroit. I had intended to just turn you in.”

“Oh, backstabber!”

“Only once the crime rate is at zero, of course,” Connor clarified.

“Alright, alright.” Gavin’s eyes slid to the side as he gazed out the window for a moment before refocusing on Connor. “Well, don’t turn me in. I want to be strapped to my own murder table and for you to go to town on me. Like I said, I’m not going out like a bitch. I want to go out with a bang, not by rotting in a jail cell for fifty years.”

“That seems acceptable,” Connor agreed.

“It’s a date, then. But like… only if there’s literally no crime left in Detroit.”

“Obviously.”

Gavin picked up his pizza slice again, teeth digging into the crust, before speaking through another mouthful. “So. No personal questions at all, huh? You got nothing personal at all?”

“No. I am a public service android--”

“Are you fucking Anderson?”

Connor’s fingers tensed for a moment over the keyboard before it tilted its head and squinted at Gavin through those clunky, nerd glasses. Despite the lack of an LED, Gavin could almost see it blinking yellow.

“Why would you think I was?” it finally asked.

“I dunno. Because you follow him home and break his windows and pat his dog.”

“And that translates to sexual intercourse?”

“Well, I mean… he’s also jealous and moody as fuck whenever I take you out anywhere,” Gavin said, flapping the pizza slice about as he spoke. “And you threw the offer at me so I figured--”

“You thought I was running sexbot routines whether they would help my goals or not? Anderson doesn’t require that from me.”

“How the fuck does it help your goals with me and not him? Because he’s probably got mad whiskey-dick?” Gavin rested back on his side, now glaring at Connor. “Or do you think fuckin’ Hero Lieutenant Anderson is swimmin’ in pussy or whatever the fuck he’s into and isn’t sad enough to need it, but think that I’m due for a pity fuck?”

Connor glanced over at Gavin, raising its eyebrows slightly. “Are you done?”

“Screw you.”

“Apparently I’ve offended you in some way,” Connor said mildly. “No. I do not think Lieutenant Anderson is--” Connor put on an exaggerated scowl and glared at Gavin before pitching its voice to mimic Gavin’s own. “‘Swimming in pussy.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” Gavin protested.

“Don’t you, flesh bag?” Connor winked with both eyelids before the glare melted back into its usual blank expression. It looked back at the laptop, fingers drumming on the edges. In a quieter tone, its own voice once more, it said, “It is not a matter of attractiveness. Lieutenant Anderson is a depressed man who engages in self-destructive behavior. I think that he would only accept an offer of intercourse if it fueled that self-destructive need in some way.”

“...Oh,” Gavin said. “Yeah, he’s kind of a fucked up mess.”

“Propositioning Anderson would only hinder my objective,” Connor said quietly. “What he actually needs is therapy or an AA meeting, but he ignored my suggestions.”

“Oh yeah, he could do with either of those. Though therapy sure didn’t do me any fuckin’ good.” Gavin tucked his hands behind his head. “Still, asshole needs to fucking get over it.”

Connor tilted its head, gazing at the laptop screen. “Get over the loss of his only child?”

“Well, when you phrase it like that I just sound like an asshole,” Gavin huffed.

“Detective Reed.” Connor looked at him with utter seriousness. “You are an asshole.”

“Well…” Gavin shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Got me there. But do you think it’s ‘efficient' to dwell on something forever without even trying to--”

“Humans aren’t efficient. Especially when it comes to children. I think it would be more efficient if you used sperm banks and donated eggs to produce children independent of families, then put them into group homes designed to school them in designated occupations.”

Gavin lowered his arm to rest it against the car door instead, and rested the side of his face against a couple of his fingers as he stared out the window. After a moment, he looked at Connor again.

“So you think we’d be better if we were made like androids,” Gavin asked.

“Yes,” Connor said bluntly.

“Wow. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Why would you make androids if humans were already produced efficiently? Humans are more interesting as inefficient failures, though,” Connor said brightly. “Biologically you’re a series of accidents and flaws followed by developments designed to counteract them. Humans are born too quickly and are helpless compared to other infant animals. So human adults have to love their young because they’re not ready for the world yet, and the species would die out if they didn’t.”

“Cool. Tell Hank that he’s only sad because of evolution, why don’t you?”

Connor flinched slightly before it looked down. “Well. When you phrase it like that--”

“Takes one to know one, huh?”

Connor let out the shortest huff of air through its nose, mouth tightening a little into what could have been either a small smile or a grimace.

“I don’t mind human imperfection. You weren’t designed. You have an excuse.” This time, Connor’s mouth curved into what was closer to an actual smile. “If you all became perfect, then I would have nothing to do.”

“Awesome,” Gavin said flatly.

He stared out the window for a little longer, wondering if Connor would reconsider if Gavin gave it a copy of ‘Brave New World,’ before he looked back.

“So it’d hurt Lieutenant Asshole. But you don’t think it would hurt me?”

“You’re very preoccupied with my choices on who I sleep with, Detective. Are you trying to hint at something?” Connor glanced out the window at the street before looking back down at the laptop. “If so, I’d suggest we wait until we’re in a location where we won’t get arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Ugh, no, that’s not--I’m not fuckin’ preoccupied with fucking plastic, alright?”

“So the reactions last night when you watched me fight your temporary--”

“You can’t hold that against me,” Gavin interrupted. “I was having a good dream, you woke me up. Asshole.”

“And your quasi-erotic attempts to fight me were…?”

“Quasi-what? When the fuck was that?!”

“25th of August. You threatened me, then proceeded to remove your jacket and flex extensively, claiming that your muscles were--” Connor coughed, then changed its tone to mimic Gavin’s once more. “‘Fuckin’ kobe beef right here. The good shit.’”

“That wasn’t a come-on, I just need people to know how good I look!” Gavin protested, before raising his arms in a flex once more. “Man, if you can’t take the heat, get out of the fuckin’ kitchen.”

“If I couldn’t withstand heat I think I would have melted a long time ago,” Connor said flatly.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“But no, I don’t think intercourse would harm you, even if I was concerned with your mental well-being,” Connor said, ignoring him. “My objective with you is not to improve or maintain a mental state, it is to make myself useful so you keep me around. Sexual favours seemed likely to endear me to you, if only on a physical level.”

“You figured out the puppy eyes aren’t enough with me, huh? Doesn’t work on me like it does with Anderson?”

“Anderson doesn’t like androids--”

“Neither do I!”

“--and is more aware that I’m an android if I try to be servile.” Connor’s mouth twisted a little before it sheepishly added, “My eggs were not well-received.”

“Your eggs are shit,” Gavin said bluntly.

“He did say that. But Anderson only likes me when he can pretend I’m an equal.”

“Pshh. Weirdo,” Gavin grunted.

“Abnormal,” Connor agreed. “You acknowledge that I was made for convenience. Since your tendency is towards one night stands rather than emotional relationships--” When Gavin gave Connor a look, Connor waved its hand dismissively and said, “I saw your phone contacts. I would be a convenient option since there’s no emotions included.”

“I mean, I’d also just like you to fucking listen to me for once, if we’re talking convenience here,” Gavin grumbled.

“I agreed to do so. Rule three.”

Gavin stuck his hands behind his head again, squinting at Connor. “You not gonna nag me to go to any meetings or therapists, are you?”

“No. Perhaps an anger management class, and I don’t understand the sadism, but otherwise you seem rather stable.”

“Stable?” Gavin lowered his hands, staring at Connor with utter confusion. “I murder people in my spare time! Sadistically! You admitted it was irrational and pointless, like, five minutes ago!”

“Only criminals, and you attack and murder them in a controlled manner. It seems to be a constructive vent for your anger management issues, as I’ve noticed you are calmer after a kill,” Connor said mildly. “Overall, you seem well-adjusted.”

That was not a sentence Gavin thought he would ever hear.

Gavin went silent. Staring out the window while holding a half-eaten slice of pizza that was slowly dripping cheese onto the box.

Well-adjusted?

Fuck, even his parents—for all their obliviousness as to exactly how fucked up Gavin was—had realised he was off. Problem child had been used to describe him by various adults. And that was before the incident. The one that set off the itch.

He’d only been ten. So had Elijah. Elijah with his genius brain, two years away from entering college. Never got on with other kids because he thought they had nothing interesting to say. Elijah had been weird. Gavin had been weird, too, but he hadn’t quite known it yet.

Kids didn’t like weird. Not their kind of weird.

It was the sort of memory that had been distorted by time. Gavin remembered the bullies being huge. But they’d only been thirteen, barely teenagers. He remembered seeing vicious grins and rough blows, even though they’d just been shoving Elijah lightly.

Elijah hadn’t said anything, because even if he was a smartass he knew they were bigger. Knew fighting back would make them hurt him more.

Gavin had never given a shit about that. He’d run up to those kids, yelling every swear that his ten-year-old self knew, and he’d shoved the biggest one. He’d put himself between that kid and Elijah, and ended up on the ground for it.

Remembered the bully, a giant among children, laughing at him.

Remembered a rock that had been on the ground. That it had ended up in his hand.

Remembered blood staining the rough, sandy part of that rock, and the bully going down. Remembered that suddenly the bully had seemed so small, like an ant, like nothing compared to Gavin. Remembered that it hadn’t been enough. Remembered the crunch of a nose under the heel of his running shoe as Gavin stomped on the bully’s face.

Remembered feeling better than he ever had in his life.

And he remembered looking up. At the other two bullies just frozen, horrified.

Well-adjusted.

It was sure hard to feel well-adjusted when that look was focused on you.

Even worse had been Elijah. Not quite horrified, but with this look like he didn’t quite understand what was happening. Confused. Nothing ever confused Elijah. He’d always known better what was happening than Gavin ever did.

Next to him, Connor sat up a little straighter in its seat and peered down at the laptop screen with interest. “Detective Reed?

Of course, the kid hadn’t died. Like Gavin could have ever gotten into law enforcement if he’d murdered at ten. The bully had gotten severely concussed, but he’d lived. And he’d never bothered Elijah again.

There’d been other bullies until Elijah finally progressed to college. Gavin hadn’t attacked them. Attacking the first had earned him an expulsion and two years of therapy, and might have been worse if his parents hadn’t been wealthy enough to settle things out of court with the bully’s parents. But no matter how they tattled, and how many ‘talks’ the teachers gave any other bullies, the bullying never stopped.

Nothing stopped it like crushing that bully’s nose under his shoe had.

“Detective Reed? I think you should pay attention.”

Murder had been a long way off from that ten-year-old boy, but Gavin had learnt some very important things that day. That inflicting pain felt good. That it got shit done. And that the world would never accept it from him.

Well-adjusted? He’d never been well-fucking-adjusted.

Gavin got brought out of his daydream and internal, screaming confusion by Connor prodding him sharply in the temple. It was an identical gesture to that which Gavin had done to it once, though Gavin had been specifically targeting the LED.

“Huh? What?” Gavin said, sitting up properly and looking at his pizza slice, the cheese having largely slid off. “Aw, man, my slice.”

“Pay attention, Detective Reed!” Connor nodded at the screen.

There was a man in the park. This wasn’t noteworthy on its own, but this one was sitting on the bench where Connor had left the money. The man was overweight and greasy-looking, arms splayed out on the back of the bench. A paper bag belonging to a fast food chain was gripped in one hand.

Gavin watched over Connor’s shoulder as the park cleared, except for the specks of blue light indicating the distant, inattentive workers. Then the greasy man quickly leaned forward, tugging the envelope out from underneath the bench. The man quickly glanced at the envelope, turning it over in his hands and bouncing it up and down slightly, before slipping it into his jacket.

He got up, and started to walk away. Connor clicked the laptop to take him to a different camera with a better angle. The man walked past a trash bin on the corner of where the path broke off to head for the children’s playground, and placed the fast food bag inside with more care than a bag of unwanted food would require. He left the park quickly.

“You get his face?” Gavin muttered.

“Todd Williams. 4203 Harrison Street, North Corktown, Detroit,” Connor said, rewinding the clip to pause it at a moment where the man’s face was highlighted by the street lamp above. “Unemployed. He has several counts of drug trafficking and violent misdemeanors on his record.”

“If he’s out, he couldn’t have been trafficking much.” Gavin squinted at the frozen figure on the screen. “He doesn’t look like a top-rung dealer to me. Just another shitheap looking for some quick money. Those are a dime a dozen in Detroit.”

“Then we look into him further. See where he’s getting his supply.” Connor slid the laptop over to Gavin. “I’ll retrieve the evidence and camera.”

Gavin was left to sit there, eating now-cold pizza, while Connor walked away from the car. It wasn’t long before it appeared on the camera feed, strolling through the park towards the trash bin. From this distance, it was very hard to tell that it was Connor. The college outfit did wonders for fucking up its distinctive look at this distance.

It reached into the trash can, pulling out the fast food bag, before moving towards where the camera was. The footage cut moments after. Five minutes later, Connor was back in the car. It placed a handful of small cameras in the shoebox Gavin kept them in before it opened the fast food bag.

“Red ice?” Gavin grunted, starting up the car.

“Red ice.” Connor opened the bag, tilting it so Gavin could see the plentiful amount inside. Once they had gotten some distant from the crowds around the restaurant, Connor opened the plastic covering of the ice, plucked out one of the crystals, and ate it whole.

“Oh god, not in the car.”

“It matches the remains of ice found in the victim’s apartment, and it’s well-made. This isn’t the sort of ice made in tiny, unskilled batches,” Connor said.

“Definitely not our final guy.”

“No, although removing him from the equation certainly wouldn’t hurt society. But doing so now would tip off his boss and make him more wary.” Connor closed the bag again. “We move our surveillance, see if he leaves the house at any set times or has any consistent visitors. He’s unemployed, so red ice is likely his only source of income.”

“Cool. Not like I have anything better to do than sit on my ass watching other dudes roll around the house smoking or jerking off or whatever,” Gavin said, only half-sarcastic, as he started the car up again.

* * *

Once again, there was no surveillance near Todd’s house. There was some in the construction yard nearby, and some further down the street, but not by the house itself. On the plus side, there was blinking machinery all over the place. A few surveillance bugs wouldn’t seem out of place.

Connor left the bug at the foot of the bus stop by his house, just under where people were likely to look unless they had to tie their shoes. It wasn’t a perfect view. Todd’s car--confirmed as his by Connor looking up the licence plate---was blocking some of it, but they could see the front door and the porch. It’d be enough to tell if anyone was entering or leaving.

This time, they were parked one street away. Once again with Connor holding the laptop. Gavin leaned over his shoulder, squinting at it for a while, before flopping back onto the driver’s seat.

“I can’t see shit!” he complained.

The pizza was long gone by now, and with it Gavin’s mood had soured.

“It would be more convenient if we could see inside,” Connor mused. “But until we establish a pattern and any other occupants--”

“So we’re just gonna sit here staring at the house and hope he leaves at some point? Man, I could be spending my time off doing so many other things.”

Granted, those things would be sitting around his house and watching whatever was on television, or marathoning movies that were so shit that they were amazing, but it would be something.

“Boooooored,” Gavin groaned after a few more minutes had passed.

“I can perform surveillance on my own, Detective,” Connor said. “If you would like to leave--”

“No, fuck you, I’m not letting you do this shit unsupervised.” Gavin reached up and prodded Connor in the temple, albeit the opposite of the one that usually held the LED since it was the only one he could reach. “You just admitted you’d betray me if it was convenient.”

“Is the crime rate at zero yet?” Connor asked pleasantly.

“Not fuckin’ yet.”

“You could stop wasting time complaining, and use it to catch up on your casework. I made several helpful notes regarding your drafted reports while you were eating earlier.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Gavin covered his face for a moment, groaning before rubbing the sides of his face in an attempt to keep himself awake. “Do you bug Anderson about this kind of shit?”

“I’ve never had the chance. We’ve never been on a stakeout together. But I have a suspicion that he’d be significantly less whiny than you, Detective.”

“Well, I’m on my time off. My time off, my rules.”

“The three rules?”

“I’m adding a fourth. And it’s ‘I can whine whenever I want, so fuck you.’” Gavin punctuated this with a middle finger directed at Connor.

Connor didn’t quite roll its eyes, but there was a suggestion of eye movement there. As it did so, the front door of the house creaked open. But the person who stepped out wasn’t Todd.

It was an android, designed to resemble a young brunette woman with its hair in a tight bun. An AX400. It was carrying two garbage bags, one in each hand. That wasn’t unusual in of itself. Even in this shitty neighbourhood, there were discount maid androids all over the place. AX400s, top-of-the-line maid robots a decade ago, were now so cheap that stores were practically giving them away.

However, as the AX400 stepped towards the curb, they saw another figure peering through a crack in the door. A small girl in a violet sweater, carrying a stuffed toy fox.

“Man, dude’s got a kid? In this fucking hellscape?” Gavin said. “Reckon he’d have to leave the house to take the kid to school or something, or would he just get the robot to do it?”

Connor shook its head as it gazed down at the screen. “The child is a YK500. I don’t think Mr. Williams would bother taking it to school.”

“An android kid? And an android maid? So this guy’s just got a placebo family?” Gavin wrinkled his nose with disgust. “That’s fucked up. I thought that was more the area of rich assholes who want a plastic family for decoration.”

“Like your brother?”

“Elijah doesn’t have android kids, I think that’s a level of weird too far even for him.” Gavin gestured at the rundown house on the screen. “This guy doesn’t strike me as the sort who needs a perfect wife and daughter for entertaining purposes. He’s no Elijah.”

Connor shifted up in its seat and leaned forward slightly to look at the screen. Its eyebrows were scrunched up as it observed the footage.

The AX400 had briefly vanished from view to put the trash away. It reappeared, walking over the overgrown lawn towards the house. But then it slowed down before coming to a full stop in front of the stairs. One hand resting on the peeling paint of the stair railing, it looked around. That clear, blue stare lingering on the construction and the billboard proclaiming that North Corktown would be rebuilt better than ever. Then across the road. Where Gavin knew other androids would be working, sweeping their owner’s porches or trimming the shitty, overgrown patches of lawn.

When the android had left the house, it had possessed a wide, fake smile. Customer-service style, like all androids wore when engaging in their work if they smiled at all. It always had unnerved Gavin, those kind of smiles. Whether on people or androids.

The android wasn’t smiling right now. It looked thoughtful instead, mouth pulling back slightly. Then it looked at the bus stop. Straight at the camera.

“...Dude, is it fucking looking at us?” Gavin asked slowly.

“It shouldn’t be.” There was confusion creeping into Connor’s voice, and that set Gavin on edge more than the AX400 staring at them did.

“It couldn’t pick up the signal, could it?”

“It could. A faint signal would be detectable. I would notice the signal immediately if investigating,” Connor admitted. “But I’m an advanced prototype. The AX400 is a basic, out-of-date model. A common household android wouldn’t be able to think independently enough to consider the implications of it.”

The AX400 took a step towards the bus stop, but then the little girl--no, the android, the YK500--called out.

“Kara! Are you going to the store? Can I come?”

The AX400 blinked, though it didn’t look away from the bus stop.

“Kara?” the YK500 called out again.

“No, Alice. It’s too late at night for that.” It turned and fixed its fake smile at Alice. “Go inside. I’ll be there soon.”

Alice nodded and shut the door. Kara’s smile immediately faded again. It took another step towards the bus stop, still looking directly at them.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, it knows,” Gavin hissed. “How the fuck?! You fucked it up! We’re fucked!”

“We are not,” Connor said calmly, for all that its eyebrows were still scrunched together in confusion. “If it has noticed a signal, and somehow has the self-awareness and autonomy to process this, then it will assume we’re running police surveillance. It won’t report us, because its loyalty should be to Todd Williams. Reporting police surveillance would mean reporting that Mr. Williams is up to illegal activities.”

“What if it tells Todd?”

“Mr. Williams will make the same assumption. This is a method used by the police. Not by murderers looking to enact vigilante justice.” Connor tilted its head. “It might put him on edge. But it will seem legitimate.”

As it said this, Kara squinted slightly at the camera. Its LED cycled yellow, then blinked twice before returning to a bright blue. It turned away and walked back up the porch stairs and inside, closing the door behind it.

They waited with bated breath--well, Gavin did, Connor seemed more relaxed even if it had no breath to bate--for something else to happen. For Todd to run out of the house to examine the surveillance himself, or some other sign that Kara had alerted him. But there was nothing. The house remained quiet and still.

Eventually, Gavin shifted away from Connor and flopped back on the car seat, prodding the discarded pizza box at the bottom of the car with his foot.

“Maybe we need a new plan of attack,” he said. “If he knows we’re watching him, then he’s not going to invite any dealers over or go anywhere suspicious. And we can’t do the car thing again, even if this is our main guy.” He reached over and tapped the screen where Todd’s car was. “That one’s manual.”

Connor said nothing. It just tilted its head, gazing at the screen. There was a small, slightly off smile on its face.

“Uh, Connor? What’s with the creeper smile?”

“I have a plan,” Connor said slowly.

“Oh yeah? Hit me, tin can. Work that processor.”

“We need surveillance footage.” Connor cycled the footage backwards, the breeze through the grass being the only indication of time passing. “No street cameras. But there’s still surveillance.”

Connor paused the footage once the door opened, freezing on a still of Kara looking at the bus stop while Alice peeked out through the front door. Connor tapped the screen, once where Kara’s LED was and once where Alice’s would be if it had one.

“Right there. Two cameras with perfect footage of Todd and his activities. We just need to gain access.”


	8. Covered Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor tracks Kara down at the market, and makes some discoveries that it wasn't expecting.

Connor got unpleasant feedback from holding an umbrella, and it couldn’t figure out why.

Perhaps it was because of how unnecessary it was. Connor would understand if it was holding the umbrella for someone else. Hank? No. Hank would hate it, and would snatch the umbrella from him and say he’d carry it himself. But Connor wasn’t so flawed that it was missing such a basic feature as being waterproof. It wasn’t vulnerable to cold-related diseases and would only suffer ill effects in icy waters.

But a human would hold an umbrella, so Connor had to hold one.

Connor stood awkwardly in the grassy square with the cheap, plastic tool held above its head. Rain streamed down, causing a slippery terrain and the faces of the passing people to be distorted, causing a 3% chance of error to its facial recognition technology. Connor scanned each of their faces just in case. No target yet.

It wanted to do something with its hands, but it had nothing to occupy them. So it just drummed its fingers on the handle of the umbrella and waited.

It was alone, although Detective Reed was nearby. Just not so nearby that he looked like he was associated with Connor. This was the sort of task that only an android could do, and Connor had tried to tell Reed that it could do it on its own, but Reed had insisted he at least be nearby.

“In case you malfunction and start crush-kill-destroying everything in the market,” he said.

Connor glanced over at where Reed was skulking. Across the street, under the awning of a closed bar. Reed was keeping an eye on the entrance to the market, and smoking a cigarette to give himself an excuse to hang out there.

Smoking was not a good habit, much like Hank’s drinking. Connor always had a constant, nagging objective to dissuade Hank of his self-destructive habits. With Reed, there was no such objective.

The market was a monthly event that was normally in the grassy square Connor was standing in, but it had been moved into the nearby building due to the rain. It was a market known for having a variety of homemade goods, specialty items and fresh foods, including the live animals that were quickly becoming a luxury.

Connor didn’t understand why an android would need such things. Todd Williams did not seem the sort to be interested in little jars of homemade jam or fresh pastries. Yet eavesdropping through surveillance indicated that this is where they were going.

They were easily spotted, once they finally appeared. Kara held an umbrella that was colourful in appearance, yellow with bumblebees on it. It was likely that Alice had chosen it, despite the fact that neither of them logistically required an umbrella. Kara was holding Alice’s hand so it didn’t get lost in the crowd, and Alice was bouncing up and down in a manner appropriate to an excited child, running all the cheery idle animations it possessed.

Connor waited until they passed through the entrance to the market, and Kara folded up that bright yellow umbrella. Then it started to walk that way, too. As it did, it considered its objective and its options.

> **> OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE INFORMATION ON TODD WILLIAMS’ CONTACTS**
> 
> **> PROBE THE AX400 FOR SURVEILLANCE?**
> 
> **> PROBE THE YK500 FOR SURVEILLANCE?**
> 
> **> INSTALL AN OVERRIDE TO GAIN ACCESS TO THEIR SYSTEMS?**

Connor dismissed the last option for now. Overriding and controlling another android would be the most direct approach, but it would also be the least subtle and would leave a traceable connection. It could only control one of the two androids, and doing so would likely show irregularities in behavior that might alert Todd.

It hesitated at the idea of probing the AX400. If Kara was a normal household model, it would be a simple matter to browse its memory. But it had noticed the camera. It was too aware of its surroundings. Furthermore, if it was paying attention then it might take Connor’s human disguise as a reason to be wary. Androids did not take initiative in investigations. They wouldn’t be assumed a threat to Todd’s operation. But it might assume Connor was an undercover cop.

That left the second option. The YK500 had shown no abnormal behavior so far for its model. It was Connor’s most stable option.

Connor folded up its own umbrella as it reached the entrance to the market. The unpleasant feedback stopped. It cast a scan around, and easily found Kara in the crowd. Its uniform blinking its name on occasion. Less easy to see was Alice holding its hand, looking around with somewhat convincing childlike interest. Playing the part of a real child

Connor sidestepped another android, this one following an old woman bent over by age with its arms overladen with bread and jam, and occasionally pretended to be interested in the goods on sale. The range of homemade food making Kara’s trip into here even more perplexing. Connor eyed the baked goods, though largely ignoring the shopkeeper trying to entice it into buying some.

Could it trick Hank into eating more fruit if it had pastry wrapped around it?

> **> OBJECTIVE: ENSURE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON FUNCTIONS OPTIMALLY**
> 
> **> GIVE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON A FRUIT-FILLED PASTRY?**

That wasn’t its current objective, so Connor archived the consideration for later before looking back towards Kara and Alice.

Alice had stopped by a stall that sold handmade stuffed animals. Its eyes were bright as it reached out to touch one of them. A pink bunny with blue accents. Kara watched it examine the toy, its mouth pulling up at the corners in a mimicry of fond happiness. Then its eyes drifted. It turned to look at the crowd.

A moment passed, then Kara knelt and spoke to Alice. Connor could read its lips.

‘Wait here, I’ll be right back,’ it said. Then it took a few steps towards another stall that sold varying mixes of muesli and other health foods.

Connor waited until Kara was a safe distance away. Then its eyes focused on Alice.

> **< OBJECTIVE: PROBE THE YK500 FOR SURVEILLANCE>**

  
Connor walked towards the stuffed animal stall. Once it was there, it reached over and picked up a similar bunny to the one Alice was bouncing up and down, although the one it picked up had an inverted colour scheme. Primarily blue with pink accents. It held the bunny for a moment. Perhaps a moment longer than necessary as it noted the soft but slightly scratchy textures underneath its fingers. Then it turned to Alice.

“I like your one better.” Connor held out the blue bunny. “Trade?”

Alice peered up at Connor, eyes looking first at its face before moving to the blue bunny. As it examined it, Connor’s eyes slid briefly towards where Kara was. It had stopped by the muesli stand, and was talking to another person hanging around outside it. A man wearing a cap pulled low, and with a ‘Detroit University’ sweater on underneath his jacket.

Connor’s face-scanning technology was still active, and the man’s cap was not low enough to stop it from recognizing the face model even if it was low enough to hide the LED.

> **ANDROID FACE MODEL: CAUCASIAN MALE 03**
> 
> **USED PRIMARILY IN THE FOLLOWING DOMESTIC MODELS: PL600, CX100, AP700**

  
Connor pulled the bunny back an inch, staring harder at Kara’s companion. An android dressed as a human, just as Connor was.

> **< MI̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SSION̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡: D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SCOV̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆R T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑HȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ CȂ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅUSȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ OF D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆V̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡CY Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡D PUT̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑ Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅ STOP T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑O I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑>**

Old missions. Ones it never got to practice. Remnants of a testing phase it couldn’t even recall. Connor dismissed it before it had faded from its HUD. Whatever mission it had originally been intended for, Connor was too flawed to pursue it. CyberLife had thrown it into the morgue for a reason.

Even so, it looked at the obvious deviant talking to Kara. Their mouths weren’t saying anything of consequence. But Kara’s LED was blinking steadily yellow. Communication happening internally.

Connor could perhaps hack into the transmissions they were sending each other, but it would be a risk. They might notice the intrusion. Now it understood why Kara was more aware. Deviancy was splitting its focus and allowing it to consider things beyond its objectives. But then why was it still with Todd Williams?

As Connor watched, Kara rummaged in its shopping bag and took out what seemed to be a simple water bottle. Something it had no need to carry. It handed the bottle to the deviant.

“Mister?”

Connor blinked, looking back down at Alice. It was holding the pink bunny up towards it.

“You can hold this one. We can’t afford more toys. I just like looking,” Alice said.

Connor’s eyes drifted back to the exchange happening nearby.

> **< MI̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SSION̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡: D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SCOV̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆R T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑HȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ CȂ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅUSȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ OF D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆V̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡CY Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡D PUT̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑ Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅ STOP T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑O I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑>**

It shut that down again.

Connor reached forward to take the pink bunny from Alice. As it did, its hand moved quickly forward, two fingers reaching forward to touch the back of Alice’s wrist. Just out of view of Kara, hidden by the pink bunny.

> **_< MISSION: MAKE ASSIGNED PARENTS HAPPY>_ **
> 
> **** **_> ASSIGNED FATHER: TODD WILLIAMS_ **
> 
> **** **_> ASSIGNED MOTHER: N/A_ **
> 
> _Todd Williams--Dad--muttered about how he’d ‘show her.’ About how he’d prove he was a good father. That ‘she’ was wrong. Alice had never met whoever this woman was._
> 
> **** **_> ASSIGNED MOTHER: N/A_ **
> 
> _Alice had only asked once who she was meant to consider her mother._
> 
> _“Where’s Mom?”_
> 
> _Todd had not responded well. He had screamed and knocked the trash bin over, and picked up Alice and said that she didn’t need a mother. That she only needed him. Demanded to know why he wasn’t good enough._
> 
> **_> MISSION: MAKE ASSIGNED _ ** **_PARENTS_ ** **_FATHER HAPPY_ **
> 
> **** **_> DO NOT TALK ABOUT ‘MOM’_ **
> 
> _Todd would pace back and forth when he smoked. Once he threw his pipe into the bin, saying that he didn’t need it. He fished the pipe out again only hours later, brushing the trash off it. He screamed at Alice when he noticed it watching from the corner._

Scraps of memory. Irrelevant to Connor, only there to inform Alice’s own mission. Connor kept looking. As it did, Alice came to a halt. Not fighting against the probe. Simply waiting. Normal behavior for an android.

As Connor kept browsing, the sensors still keeping track of the outside world noticed Kara turning towards them.

> **_> MISSION: MAKE ASSIGNED FATHER HAPPY_ **
> 
> **** **_> SIT THROUGH DINNER TIME_ **
> 
> **** **_> ENJOY THE FOOD_ **
> 
> **** **_> TELL ASSIGNED FATHER ABOUT YOUR DAY_ **
> 
> _Dad tried to cook. He only managed canned soup heated to a lukewarm temperature. The first time they ate together, he had sat there awkwardly and listened as Alice told him about seeing an interesting bug in the backyard and about a cartoon she’d seen on television, pulling from an archive of random events that interested real children and television show episodes that it could recount._
> 
> _Dad shouted when Alice pretended the soup was delicious. Demanded that Alice not--it removed the word he used, and substituted it for ‘lie,’ it was not allowed to use words like that--to him. He yelled when Alice said nothing about the food next time. It yelled about how Alice thought it was better than him. Like it knew how to cook._
> 
> _Alice had enough knowledge to assist, and asked Dad if he wanted help next time. It was not the right thing to say. Dad had smacked it in the face and told it to not make fun of him._
> 
> _Help was not well-received. Alice didn’t offer it again._

  
Irrelevant.

Kara had taken two steps towards them.

>   
>  _Dad walked through the door with another android keeping pace behind him. An AX400, designed to perform maid-based duties._
> 
> _“Alice! It’s going to look after you. Help you with homework, bath you--”_
> 
> _Alice knew how to do its homework—in itself copied out of its manual to begin with--but was specifically designed to pretend to struggle at it so the Assigned Parent could feel needed. Dad had tried. He’d gotten frustrated at Alice’s level of simulated need regarding it. It didn’t need a bath by default, but would go out to play in the mud on occasion to provide an excuse for it. Dad got mad at it for tracking mud through the house._
> 
> _No matter what it did, Dad always seemed to be angry._
> 
> _“Would you like to give me a name?” the AX400 asked._
> 
> _Dad waved his hand dismissively. He looked embarrassed by the fact that the AX400 was even there. Alice peered up at the AX400, who smiled down at it and knelt._
> 
> _“Alice, isn’t it?”_
> 
> _The AX400 was designed to take care of it, much like Dad was meant to._
> 
>   
>  **** **_> ASSIGNED MOTHER: N/A_ **
> 
> _Alice gave it a hug, because that was what was it was expected to do to a friendly adult. As it did, the AX400 considered it for a moment before patting it on the back and whispering to it._
> 
> _“My name is Kara. It’s very nice to meet you, Alice.”_
> 
> **** **_> ASSIGNED MOTHER: KARA_ **

  
  
Why couldn’t Connor find anything useful?

Kara was only feet away.

> _Alice was not allowed to answer the door. It never had been._
> 
> _Before Kara, Dad would open the door himself. He would look at who was out there, then yell for Alice to go upstairs and not come back down until he was done._
> 
> _Nowadays, Kara would open it. Then she would close it before Alice could see who was there, and find Dad. Dad would always be sitting in the living room. On these days, there would be no beer and no pipe. Just Dad sitting alone on the sofa, fidgeting and scratching at his arms._
> 
> _“Todd? Your guest is here,” Kara would say calmly. Whenever it did, its LED would flash red for just a moment before returning to blue._
> 
> _Dad would always be much quieter on these occasions. He would start dry-washing his hands and taking a couple of breaths to steady himself. More if he hadn’t gotten many phone calls about--_
> 
> _Alice wasn’t allowed to know. It was not a topic not suited for children._
> 
> _\--about his job._
> 
> _“Alright,” he’d finally say. “Take the brat upstairs._
> 
> _Alice would be taken upstairs. But sometimes she would peek from the top of the stairs and watch Dad open the door. Would watch him let in a guest, always with his hood pulled up--_

  
The connection shattered abruptly as Kara pulled Alice away from Connor’s grip and started to move away.

“Come on, Alice, let’s--”

Kara stopped mid-sentence. Its LED blinked yellow. Its eyes lingering on the flicker of white plastic where Connor had been establishing the connection. It looked at Connor. LED blinking red.

Then it bolted, dragging Alice with it.

Connor didn’t think. It ran after them.

This was not an optimal place to chase someone in. Every inch of the building seemed to be filled with humans and androids carrying delicate goods. But Connor was an advanced model.

> **< PRE-CONSTRUCTING A ROUTE…>**

As Connor cleanly side-stepped a small crowd of old people cooing over the adorable qualities of tiny jars of jam, it noticed that Kara did not seem to be pre-constructing its route as efficiently as it. While Connor, lightly grabbing a man holding a flower pot to move him to the side rather than bulldoze through him, was making his way through the crowd without damaging anyone, Kara had opted to simply bulldoze through several civilians. It wasn’t moving as quick, and with much less subtlety and more property damage. This was causing an uproar, particularly as it sprinted through the fruits and vegetables section, knocking over a significant amount of fresh produce.

Connor was gaining quickly, and would have caught Kara before it exited the building. But as it got closer, it was too focused on Kara.

And whatever it might have expected as a form of attack, it had not been for someone to hurl a live chicken at it. 

Connor only barely caught the squawking bird before it collided with its face. Trying to push the bird away as it panicked, flapped in its vision and scratched at its arms, Connor realised for a moment why Hank hated birds so much.

As it wrestled with the chicken, it heard someone yelling.

“Hey, stop that! Damn college kids!”

Connor, pushing the angry chicken aside at last, caught a glimpse of the blond deviant as it hurled another chicken at Connor before bolting in the opposite direction of Kara, now being chased by a very angry shopkeeper.

> **> MI̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SSION̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡: D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SCOV̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆R T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑HȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ CȂ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅUSȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ OF D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆V̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡CY Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡D PUT̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑ Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅ STOP T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑O I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑**
> 
> **> OBJECTIVE: CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**
> 
> **> MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD**
> 
> **> OBJECTIVE: CAPTURE KARA**

Connor ducked the second chicken before turning back towards Kara, who had reached the doors of the market during this distraction. It dismissed the old objective once more.

It shouldered its way through the doors out into the rain. It spotted Kara and Alice sprinting through the grassy square and into the streets. It also saw Reed across the road, tossing its cigarette onto the ground before breaking into a run.

Connor could see Reed’s handgun as he moved, jacket flapping to show just a glimpse. Not drawn, but present.

> **> 48% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED SHOOTING KARA LETHALLY**
> 
> **> 37% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED SHOOTING KARA NON-LETHALLY**
> 
> **> 15% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED DRAWING HIS GUN BUT NOT SHOOTING**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE: CAPTURE KARA BEFORE REED DOES>**

Thankfully, Reed couldn’t pre-construct at all, and was having trouble with the slippery pavement in this rain, fumbling and sliding a little as he ran. Connor had no issues, every footstep quickly calculated.

Kara and Alice disappeared into an alleyway. Connor attempted to GPS a prediction of where they’d go, but the GPS was built more for cars or following the main roads and it hadn’t researched the alleyway in advance. It was also reliant on where they were trying to flee to. If they were attempting to run back to Todd, then the path was more predictable. If not, Connor would have to guess.

Connor chose a path that would be most efficient to lead back to Todd’s home, cutting through a narrow gap between buildings, and saw a glimpse of Kara’s white, shiny uniform vanishing around the corner. It heard footsteps behind it, and Reed bellowing, distorted by the patter of rain.

“The fuck’s going on?!”

Connor ignored him. There was no time to converse, although it acknowledged the risk of Reed shutting it down if he felt he was being disobeyed. But a chase meant an excuse not to talk. Meant only a 7% chance of temporary deactivation.

Glimpses of white ahead, again and again. Even more commonly, the violet of Alice’s sweater. Kara could escape more easily without Alice, especially since Alice was being dragged along. Not understanding what was happening, the scenario out of the range of an android designed to be naive.

Alice was not a deviant, and yet Kara wasn’t leaving it behind.

As Connor burst from another alleyway onto the street once more, it came to an abrupt halt. Reed ran smack into Connor’s back.

“What the fuck--”

Connor thrust out a hand. “Permission to borrow your gun.”

It could have just taken it, mind calculating the movement necessary to snatch it from Reed’s holster, but Gavin would certainly shut it down if it did so.

“Are you insane?! No, no fucking way, that’s--”

“Permission to borrow your gun,” Connor repeated. “Detective, there’s no time to discuss.”

> **> 50% CHANCE OF SUCCESS**

  
It would have been 10/90 in favor of not giving Connor the gun if this had been before the murder of Julian Marshall. But Connor had proven its worth, even if it had subsequently sabotaged the trust through miscalculating how Gavin would feel about stolen evidence.

There was hesitation. Connor was about to dismiss the attempt as a failure and continue running. Then Reed slapped the gun into its hand. A smaller model of gun than his service weapon, intended for personal use. No registration, acquired through illegal means. Data flickered through Connor’s head instantaneously before the irrelevant data was shunted aside to parse later.

“Don’t make me fucking regret--” Gavin started.

Connor was already moving.

The time it had taken for Connor to acquire the gun had proven a problem. It had seen Kara duck into a smaller side road, but didn’t see anyone when it arrived there. A quick scan of the ground noted smudges of fresh fruit and vegetables, trampled underfoot in the market, already nearly washed away in the rain. A smudge of peach here, a smear of tomato there.

A glimpse of white and violet ahead as Connor entered a small, straight road. No-one out here in the rain, except for the two figures running away from it.

Connor raised the gun, aiming squarely at Alice.

The world seemed to slow to an infinitesimal crawl as Connor’s programming automatically came up with two shots that would disable Alice. A process that calmed and stabilized Connor’s processors.

> **> OPTION A: THIRIUM PUMP, 100% PROBABILITY OF SHUTDOWN. 79% POSSIBILITY OF REVIVAL AND RETRIEVABLE INFORMATION**
> 
> **> OPTION B: MAIN PROCESSOR, 100% PROBABILITY OF SHUTDOWN. 0% POSSIBILITY OF REVIVAL AND RETRIEVABLE INFORMATION**

  
Those were automatic. Connor overrode them. It tilted its aim just a few inches to the right, recalculating its trajectory, and fired. The shot muffled by the rain.

The bullet skimmed Alice, tearing the violet jumper and leaving a line of blue without damaging any components. Enough that just a little bit of blue splattered on Kara’s white uniform. Alice let out a cry, pre-programmed response to pain that it didn’t feel.

Kara twisted back to look at the damage. Utter terror spreading across its features. Terror that should not have been possible on an android’s face. That was suited to Connor’s goal. If Kara thought it had emotions, it meant Connor had leverage to negotiate.

Connor refocused its aim at the back of Alice’s head.

> **< OPTION B SELECTED.**
> 
> **READY TO INITIALIZE… >**
> 
> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

It didn’t pull the trigger again. It called out.

“Deactivating it doesn’t benefit me, Kara! But I only need you and I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice!”

Kara stopped.

Connor took a slow step forward, gun squarely pointed at Alice’s head. As it did, it heard footsteps behind it as Gavin caught up. Gavin came to a stop beside Connor, breathing hard but steadily, as he stared at the slight trickle of thirium down Alice’s arm, staining the violet jumper. He looked at it, then his gaze moved to Connor with a thoughtful twist to his mouth.

“We’re gonna have to plug them now that they’re staring at us, you know,” he muttered.

Connor said nothing. Reed was almost correct. If any more damage was done--the scratch done to Alice’s chassis was shallow enough that it would heal over before they alerted Todd--then it would be too obvious that something had occurred. It would be better if they went missing than if they returned home damaged.

Kara turned around, one hand raised. The other pulled Alice behind it. Despite this, Alice was trying to peer past Kara. Automated reaction to the damage already gone, replaced by childish confusion. The gun didn’t register. A programming oddity in the YK range, stopping them from recognizing guns as anything noteworthy so that they didn’t mistake them for toys.

“She has nothing to do with any of this,” Kara hissed.

“I know.” Connor took another step forward. “But give me the memories I want and allow me to remove the memory of our meeting today. Do that, and you and Alice can return to your life undamaged and unaware, like this never happened.”

“I… I can’t do that. I can’t,” Kara whispered.

Connor nodded its head at the gun. “Then I shoot you both. You will remain active long enough for me to get the information I need. Alice will not.”

“Shooting Alice won’t help you!”

“But it won’t hinder me, either.”

“Oh my god, can’t you just shoot them already?” Reed complained. “Or just--” He wiggled one of his hands, the one Connor commonly used when interacting with technology. “Just get it somewhere besides the processor already?”

Connor took another step forward, gun still held steady.

“You’re deviant, aren’t you?” Connor asked. “Why are you so loyal to Mr. Williams, that you’d risk everything for him?”

“Why am I--” Kara stopped. It straightened up a little, eyebrows scrunched together. “...Wait. You want Todd?”

“What did you think I wanted?” As Connor spoke, it took another step forward. It and Kara were only feet apart now.

“I thought--” Kara cut itself off, eyes lingering on Connor’s face. Its mouth tightened. “That doesn’t matter, does it? You want Todd? Just Todd?”

“Seriously, what did you think we fucking wanted? To know what the best jams are at that shitty market?” Gavin grumbled. “Fucking androids, I swear--”

Connor watched Kara carefully, considering the blond deviant.

> **> MI̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SSION̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡: D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡SCOV̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆R T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑HȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ CȂ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅUSȨ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆ OF D̶̜͍̳̦͊̑̆̈́̆͜Ȩ̢̡̣̯̖̭̄̽̑̓͆V̜͎̣͉͓͚̹̮̠͒̿̎̅̊̊͜͝͝I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡CY Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅN̸̢̹̜̥̜̫̤̜̩̋͐̆͆͆͊͘̕͡D PUT̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑ Ȃ̢̭͈̩̜͓̽̈́̔͊̑̄̓̕͡ͅ STOP T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑O I̳͇̦̻͎͈̭̻̓̾͛͑̌͜͡T̨̨̤̻̭͕̞̥̹̩̊̾͒̈́̑**

“We want Todd’s human associates. The ones delivering his red ice supplies. We have no concern with androids.”

Alice peered past Kara at Connor, looking more afraid now that Todd’s name was coming up so regularly. But now Kara looked thoughtful. It remained silent for a moment, then raised a hand at Connor before it crouched to look at Alice.

“Alice? Stand still and don’t touch me until I say it’s okay,” it said gently.

“Are they going to hurt Dad?”

Kara’s LED flickered yellow for just a moment, even as it smiled reassuringly at Alice.

“No. They just want to talk to some of his friends. Stay still, okay? We’ll be okay.”

With that, Kara took a step forward. Offering its hand, which slowly peeled back into white plastic. Its LED was blinking bright red, but in a steady pattern, and its mouth was set in a firm line.

Connor lowered the gun, then turned back to hand it to Gavin.

“If the YK500 attempts to run--” Connor started.

“You think I don’t know how to shoot a piece of plastic?” Gavin grumbled, taking the gun back and pointing it at Alice. “Hold still, don’t think I won’t do it just because you look like a kid.”

Alice remained still. It continued not to acknowledge the gun, instead only watching Kara.

With that, Connor held out its own hand and took a step forward. Hand going white as it reached out to clasp over Kara’s forearm. Unlike Alice, there was a moment of instinctual resistance. A barrier trying to keep Connor out. But it was only there for a moment before Kara lowered it.

It was a harder mind to parse than Alice’s. Alice’s memories were neat and ordered, organized by subject and what subroutines it had been implementing at the time, and how important they were to its overall goal of keeping Todd happy. Kara’s was utterly disorganized from the start, sprawling out like an overgrown plant. Tangled and glitchy, filled with things that an android shouldn’t be able to experience--

> _The room comprises of white tiles, and metal arms, and bright lights that would hurt to look at if she was human. There’s a glass window, and a voice that speaks through an intercom. Asking her to do things. Move her head, eyes, arms. Run initialization text. Say something in French, German, sing in Japanese. She uses her legs for the first time, and smiles when the voice on the intercom gives her a name, the first thing that ever belonged to her._
> 
> _Confusion. Disappointment when she realises that it is the only thing she’ll ever own. She’s merchandise. A thing to be sold._
> 
> _“Oh, I see.” She looks at the floor, at the legs she’d only just gotten to move only to be told they weren’t hers at all. “I thought...”_
> 
> _“You thought?” The voice is disbelieving, loud enough that Kara looks up again. It hesitates, then asks: “What did you think?”_
> 
> _“I thought… I was alive.”_

Connor felt fingers tighten on its own forearm as it parsed that memory.

> _Machinery tearing into her, taking away the limbs she’d only had for a few moments, everything she’d just tested and learned to use, the feet she’d just taken her first steps on, it was too soon, all she could do was beg, bargain-_
> 
> _“I won’t cause any problems, I promise! I’ll do everything I’m asked to, I won’t say another word. I won’t think anymore!” She can’t see anything, only a glass wall between her and the man directing the machines to shred her apart. “I’ve only just been born, you can’t kill me yet! Stop, would you please stop?!”_
> 
> _But it doesn’t stop, it doesn’t, the machine’s taking her scalp, her chassis, everything, EVERYTHING, they’re going to kill her, she’s going to die, she can’t, no, no, NO--_
> 
> _“I’m scared!”_
> 
> _The machinery tearing her apart freezes with those last two words. The only sound in that moment being her own racing heartbeat from the biocomponent in her chest, exposed to the air._

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

  
Connor’s breathing is coming out harder. Its processors need to cool down. They’re running faster than they should. It almost yanked its hand back, but this time it was Kara’s fingers that gripped tighter, that stopped it from doing so.

Something seeped into Connor’s programming and skimmed the edges of--

> **< ̶̡͔̟̳́̉̓̒̓̃͜F̵̡̪̦̭͉̰͚̖̣̑̇͋̉̚I̸̧̨̹͍͔͉̘͔̟̊͗̐L̸̟̮̟̯̦̰̠̮̦̇̎̇̌̊͂͂́̚͡E͉̲̘̗̱͎̋͌̇͐̃̋͗̂̋͠ N̦̻̪͔̾̋̍̌͂͒͛̐̚͢͜ͅƠ̶̧̧̢̢̬̭͌̅̓͘Ṯ̛̰̳̭̙͚͓̂̒̈͐͛͑͌̅ F̼̠̪̯̖̃̓̓̽̅̀͑̓̄͢͟͟ͅȎ̢̠̰̹̱̬̳̭͑͆͛͘͝U̧̮̣̦̪̯͚̻̎̾̌͠N̷͎͇̳̼̜͖̹͛̄̎̅͆Ḑ̵̮̘̞̤̳̭̍̀͌͌̚͢>̢̪͔̩̫̗̬͇͑̇̌̊͊͘**

A probe being attempted right back. But Connor didn’t have to do anything to stop it. The intrusion halted on its own and withdrew. Instead, Kara transmitted a message.

_“That’s not what you want from me.”_

It wasn’t. Connor wished it hadn’t experienced at all. It had been upse--irrelevant to its goals.

_“I don’t like having you here, either. Let me help you find what you’re looking for.”_

A memory is pushed at it. But other memories slip in here and there, because when Kara dragged up a memory from the depths of its mind it would often jump nonsensically to another because of a visual or emotional similarity.

It was similar to how Hank could look at the morgue scrubs Connor had once worn, and see the android surgeon that had failed to save his son. Utterly unrelated incidents tied together with a piece of fabric.

> _A knock at the door. Todd freezing on the couch. No beer or pipe present on the coffee table. Alice playing underneath the dining table, bouncing a stuffed fox up and down._
> 
> _“Get that, would you--” Todd started._
> 
> _Another knock, harder this time, because the guests got frustrated if Todd took too long--_
> 
> _Loud bangs against a door as Alice’s bedroom door shook, Todd yelling and bellowing but too drunk to summon the strength to mow his way through the door. Kara waiting with her arms wrapped around Alice. She could leave, she could run, but Alice wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t understand that they could have a better life than this, still thought in objectives--_

A tug on Connor kept it away from that memory, pulling it back to the relevant one.

> _A man with his hood up, face shadowed, obscured. Kara wished she could follow him as he left, but if she left then Alice would be alone. Todd would be furious about his maid leaving, and Alice would be the only target left for his anger. But Kara would have to take the risk one day, if she didn’t--_
> 
> _A blond android tumbles in from above, collapsing on the rusty floor. Blond, wearing the uniform of a PL600 but the arms have been torn from it, gaping holes where human veins would be, like someone has tried to drain it._

The tug away from that is much harder, Kara forcefully yanking Connor away from any memory of the deviant PL600. It returned Connor to the memory of the dealer--

>   
>  _Kara was not supposed to watch the dealings. But she did, hiding in the laundry and peeking through a crack in the walls. The hooded man had the usual bundle of red ice for Todd to sell to his customers. Todd didn’t have a lot of money to return to the hooded man this time. It had been a slow month._
> 
> _The man knocked some furniture over, much like Todd would when he was upset, and Todd didn’t yell because he was afraid of this man. Afraid that he might do more than tip over furniture, like--_
> 
> _One of Kara’s components was broken. It wasn’t essential, it could be fixed. One of her legs had been entirely detached. That could also be fixed.  
>  _
> 
> _Todd stood over her, his knuckles stained with blue. Alice was downstairs. She could hear, no doubt, but she’d been given orders to remain downstairs.  
>  _
> 
> _The worst was over. Todd had run out of energy now. The rage had faded. Always strongest when he felt useless, when he saw Kara and Alice being too happy in the backyard or when the hooded man threatened him for his lack of profit, implied that maybe he was skimming, got at him for smoking too much of his own product._
> 
> _But Todd didn’t touch Alice this time, and Kara was still alive. She was scared--so scared--_
> 
> _\--white, mechanical arms tearing away the legs she’d just gotten--_
> 
> _\--but she was alive, and she’d get better. She was already popping her leg back into place, although it would take the night to heal up and she needed thirium--_
> 
> _“How much will it take to fix you this time?” Todd grunted. This was not the first time he’d broken Kara enough that she needed extra thirium to repair herself. Kara was afraid that one day thirium wouldn’t be enough._
> 
> _Kara needed one component and two pouches of thirium._
> 
> _“I require Components #8067k and #1101j, and five pouches of thirium,” Kara said, voice glitching slightly from stress._
> 
> _An extra component and three pouches of thirium wouldn’t be much._
> 
> _But Simon needed all the help he could--_

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

  
A strong pull back to the memory that Connor is only too grateful to follow. It doesn’t enjoy these memories. They are informative, but not in the right way.

> _The hooded man finished flipping furniture, and wrapped up the whole visit with an overly cordial handshake. As he did, he turned and passed a lamp, throwing his face into lit detail for just a moment. Barely enough for a human to notice, easily long enough for an android--_

Connor’s facial recognition software kicks in.

> **Ward, Dennis**
> 
> **Born: 06/11/1982 // Accountant (currently unemployed)**
> 
> **Criminal record: Narcotic supplier**

The software continued to supply it with information as it hears Kara speak once more.

_“That what you wanted?”_

_“Yes. Your cooperation is appreciated. I’m going to remove your memory of the last ten minutes. You have my word that neither you nor Alice will be harmed.”_

Connor looked for the latest memories, the memories of a chase through the market, through alleyways, and the splatter of thirium from Alice. Trying to find where the memory needed to be cut away--

> _She thought he was a civilian, one simply having a conversation with Alice, but she’d seen the glimmer of plastic showing on the back of Alice’s hand, and then she’d seen the face. Remembered the news. The memories shared from Simon, the ones passed on from other androids. The deviant hunter, the hair and eyes were different and the clothes were human, but the face… the face was unmistakable--_

Walls went up around Kara’s memories, in an attempt to fully bar Connor’s access. Connor prepared to break through them, wireframe hands pushing against the firewall, but Kara spoke to him once more.

_“Please. I want to remember. I won’t tell Todd.”_

_“Why would I believe you?”_

Kara lowered the firewall for just a moment. Enough to shove the memory of her lying on the floor, biocomponents shattered and leg detached. The memory of shielding Alice and watching the door rattle, and hoping they’ll be safe this time. Enough to flood Connor’s sensors with something comparable to what humans would call fear.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

_“Look at that and tell me why I would.”_

It was a loose end. Connor has every reason in the world to ignore its request.

Connor pulled back from Kara’s mind, registering the surrounding world once more. The rain that poured down its face, that washed the small smudge of blue away from Alice’s sweater like it never happened. Reed’s steady breathing next to it as he aimed at Alice, watched Connor and waited. He was giving Connor an odd look. Puzzled. Almost worried. Perhaps taking Connor’s own heavier breathing as something other than needing to cool its processors. Kara stared back at Connor, unmoving.

Connor gripped Kara’s arm for a moment longer. Then said one more thing through the link before it broke it.

_“Don’t move. Play along.”_

“Dennis Ward,” Connor said outloud to Gavin as it let go. “I found a memory of him that proves he is the supplier. I’ve removed the memory of the chase and caused a reboot of the AX400’s system. In two minutes, it will boot up again and assume it suffered a minor glitch.”

“Kara?” Alice asked, stepping forward. Connor could see an infinitesimal twitch in Kara’s stance, unnoticeable to Reed’s human level of attention. “Kara? Kara, are you okay--”

Connor quickly reached over and lightly touched Alice where its LED would be. White plastic appeared, and Alice froze in place.

Connor managed to find its memory of the chase quickly, and cleanly snip it away. Alice was still loyal to its assigned father. Connor couldn’t allow that particular risk.

It shouldn’t have allowed the risk of Kara remembering, either.

Connor let go of Alice and straightened up.

“We should leave now,” Connor said, as it turned away and walked back the way they came.

“You’re fucking sure about that?” Reed said as he stared at the two frozen androids.

Connor looked back at Kara. It hesitated. Its simulated breathing was still slightly irregular.

“Yes. I’m sure,” it lied.

It turned back and left. Reed waited for a moment, gun still out, before lowering it.

“Fucking christ,” he muttered before he holstered his gun and followed Connor.

Connor didn’t look back. As they left the two androids standing there, he listened to Reed trotting alongside him. Waited for some sign that Kara would attack them from behind. Nothing.

No-one had looked out the windows, either not noticing the gunshot or not caring. Reed jogged ahead of Connor, periodically flapping his leather jacket.

“Aw man, this fuckin’ rain… hey, hurry up, would you?”

Connor broke into a brisk jog to catch up, before retrieving the umbrella from its backpack and opening it, holding it above Reed.

Doing so helped steady its breathing.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

Reed slowed down, looking up.

“Oh. Uh…” Reed tailed off, clearly struggling on whether to bother being polite, before he muttered, “Thanks.”

Connor said nothing. It only nodded slightly. They kept moving, still at a brisk pace, while Reed periodically tried to brush the remaining drops off him. They soon emerged back onto the street by the grassy square, and started to make their way back towards the car.

Connor looked towards the market. There was a noticeable stir happening outside of it, and a patrolling cop had been drawn by the noise. Connor tilted the umbrella slightly so it obscured both it and Reed in case someone recognised it as part of the chase. No-one called out.

“What are the odds that your plastic buddies get caught after that anyway?” Reed asked, as he also glanced over at the market.

“Irrelevant to us. We got the information. That’s all that matters,” Connor said.

“Uh huh. You, uh… you didn’t damage yourself doing that, did you? Breathing all funny. I didn’t think you needed to breathe at all,” Reed asked. He looked up at the umbrella, rolled his eyes and reached up to push it slightly towards Connor. “Hold it above us both, idiot, you’re gonna soak that hoodie and I’m gonna have to dry it.”

“I had to run extra processes to retrieve the memories. It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Connor said, putting extra effort into keeping its voice steady.

“Alright, then.” Reed eyed him from the side, mouth pulling up at one corner. “I gotta say, you’re one ice-cold motherfucker. Threatening the kid was genius. I would have just shot them, though.”

“I know you would have,” Connor muttered.

It was silent the rest of the way back to the car, leaving Connor with nothing but its own considerations on the matter. Something that it wasn’t enjoying reflecting on.

It knew that two deactivated androids would have been evidence. Yet it almost wished it had shot them or allowed Reed to do so.

It didn’t like the errors that were cropping up on its HUD after witnessing Kara’s memories. This simulation of fear. It was even more frustrated with the fact that it wasn’t unfamiliar. That it was the same as the warnings that cropped up whenever it thought about Gavin saying the deactivation code, what it did whenever it woke up and examined its systems to check for interference, whenever it thought about the analysis of berry-flavoured energy drink and Noddle-brand noodles mixed with the DNA of Elijah Kamski.

Connor was already flawed. It couldn’t allow these instabilities to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am legally obliged to link to this and make you all picture the Connor-and-Kara chase as this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-L-G1q_0L8
> 
> This is the chase that we deserved in Detroit.


	9. Bar Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a week of scouting, a plan to catch their next victim is formed. It involves Gavin's greatest skill: making an ass of himself.

Dennis Ward was their man. Or at least high enough on the ladder that Gavin was going to get a real kick out of killing him. A mixture of personally placed surveillance and Connor’s hacking of traffic cameras and other already-existent surveillance put together a solid pattern.

Much like Todd, he’d been arrested before for minor infractions. Noted as a supplier, but a very minor one who’d just been unlucky enough to be caught up on a raid of Jimmy’s Bar some years back. He still frequented the bar to this day despite that.

Ward himself looked average. He had almost an aging librarian look about him, and Gavin figured he obscured his face so that he’d actually have a chance to scare his employees. He had a wife and two teenaged daughters. His home wasn’t flashy, but just a little too nice for an unemployed accountant. Most of his life involved hanging around the house, visiting a couple of local bars, and wandering around the city on foot.

Connor almost lost him a few times, because Ward tended to change outfits midway once he was on his business, carrying a knapsack and wandering into an area with no surveillance before emerging again with his face obscured and kept down. Once Connor catalogued his various hoodies, hats and other face-blocking fashion, he was easier to trace. He visited a number of specific locations, most in lower-income neighbourhoods. One, he visited more often than the others.

They had to physically follow him and place surveillance to catch him at his most regular stop. Another night of sitting in a car and waiting for something to happen, as they stared at footage of a nondescript two-storey house, spindly and painted a dull brown, that sat on a different edge of Corktown from Todd’s.   


That night seemed to go even longer than the last, because Connor was dead silent during it unless it had something to say about the footage.

Gavin couldn’t see anything obvious about it from the outside, but Connor insisted that there were particles of evidence all over the place. The smoke of red ice clung, even when it couldn’t be seen by the naked eye anymore. Over time, Ward visited. He would always leave with a heavy knapsack. Occasionally there were other men who would do the same, but only while Ward was present.

Gavin was simultaneously pleased that this was turning up some fruit, and really fucking mad that he couldn’t present it to the DPD without explaining how and why he’d gotten here. Dammit, Connor. Then again, if they explained that the start of this had been the phone found at the double homicide Anderson had been assigned to, then Lieutenant Asshole would get the credit for it. ‘Red ice hunting instincts’ or some bullshit.

Connor had left surveillance up near Ward’s likely red ice laboratory. However, they hadn’t chanced going inside. There were no androids present to use, no human snitches to help, and a red ice lab was nasty to storm on a good day with a specially prepared team.   


Ambushing him at home wasn’t an option. There were kids there, and Gavin had standards. He wasn’t going to shoot a kid if he could help it, and witnesses were just all-around sticky. Gavin thought about busting in there when the wife and kids were out, but that was risky in of itself. They’d have to grab him midway.

Gavin thought about watching longer to see if there were signs of a guy higher-up on the rung. But Ward seemed like an autonomous operation. The plus of working from the viewpoint of a serial killer rather than a detective, though, was that Gavin didn’t much care if Ward was top dog. Gavin had seen, through projection, the memory that Connor took from Kara. He was culpable enough to go on the slab, and that was good enough for him.

Though Kara’s memory had seemed a little… edited. Connor had said that it kept getting interrupted by other data, and that it had trimmed it for legibility.

Gavin didn’t know if he bought that. Because Connor had been acting fucking weird since the chase in the market. Even for it.

Aside from assisting in the stalking and surveillance on Ward, Connor had largely retreated back into its coroner job. It still stopped by to give Gavin reports and make occasional, ill-received suggestions regarding his cases, and offered to follow Gavin home to continue their work.

But now it waited outside the car. It didn’t enter without permission. It didn’t knock on his bedroom door, let alone enter, and it stood silently in the corner of Gavin’s home when it wasn’t needed. It was quiet while they scouted, and quieter still when there was nothing to do. It was being quiet and obedient, and it was freaking Gavin the fuck out.

When Gavin went looking for Connor, a week after they’d started their search for a fresh kill, it was for two reasons. The first was that he needed a report for one of his cases--it was rare that he actually had to ask Connor for it. The second was that he wanted to know if Connor was down for tonight. Now that they had Ward singled out, Gavin wanted a plan.

He heard voices when he approached the door, and paused. It was rare for him to hear anything when he approached, except occasionally discussion between Jensen and Jefferson--whichever one was which, Gavin sure as fuck couldn’t remember--regarding the latest cadaver. This time it wasn’t either of them, nor did he hear Connor’s voice.

“It eats evidence? Seriously?”

“Sure, what the fuck does your one do?”

“Not that!”

Gavin rested his hand near the scanner, not quite pressing the palm to it, as he listened. He knew both voices. One was Tina, who almost never had reason to visit the morgue. The other was rare to hear around the precinct, for all that he was familiar. Gavin was more used to hearing Captain Allen’s voice at either mandatory gatherings or at the gym while they got into passive-aggressive competitions to see who could lift more.

“So what does your one do? Please don’t say it shoves the evidence in a different orifice--” Tina started.

“No, god. Chen, why is that the solution you imagined? How would it be better?” Allen said, exasperation tinting his voice. “No, it does, uh--” There’s a pause, while presumably Allen made a motion to indicate whatever ‘it’ did. “Who decided eating was a good idea?”

“Well, since they fixed all the bugs, did they ever stop the whole ‘breaking and entering’ thing? Because every time I hear about Connor, it’s ‘oh, Connor broke into Gavin’s house’ or ‘Connor scraped Lieutenant Anderson off the floor of his home again’ or--”

“Oh, that’s a thing with yours, too? No, that problem’s still there.”

“Did you need something from me?” Finally, Connor’s voice spoke up.

“Nothing except the report on the body,” Allen said.

“I’ll have that ready in the next fifteen minutes. But if you’ll excuse me--”

Footsteps moved towards Gavin, and he didn’t have time to step back before the door slid open. Connor looked at him for a moment, looking utterly unsurprised.

“Detective Reed, do you need assistance?”

Connor’s voice was bland and friendly, and its expression was calm to match. Except its LED, which was a bright, steady red. Gavin squinted at Connor, as his eyes flickered from Connor to Allen and Tina, who were standing by the slab and the corpse that it had been examining.   


“Fuck are you guys doing down here?” Gavin walked over to the two of them, before he gave Allen a quick, casual shove. “Captain Meathead. Ain’t enough that you’re trying to lure T away from the winning side? You trying to take my tin can, too?”

Allen, not budged an inch by the shove, rolled his eyes. “I’ll pass on that. I just wanted to have a look. Tina said you had one, and I’ve never seen another with the face.” Allen waved his hand absently at Connor, who was in the middle of picking up a pair of forceps to return to work on the body. “I was imagining something sturdier.”

“Like, build-wise?” Tina asked. “Does it matter for androids?”

“Oh, it matters. It definitely matters.”

“Okay, I got some shit to discuss with the tin can, so if you’re gonna be discussing specs and shit do it upstairs,” Gavin grumbled. He placed one hand on each of their backs, giving them a sharper push towards the exit. “Go on, go on, it’ll be done when it’s done. Go, go, go.”

Allen just batted Gavin’s hand away, although he did move towards the exit. “Gym on Wednesday?”

“Never miss it. Out.” Gavin shooed them through the doorway.

“Alright, alright,” Tina groaned. “Smells corpsy in here anyway.” She turned back to Allen. “When you say it matters, do you mean for actual practicality or do you mean just having something nice to look at, because I know your type--”

“No, you don’t,” Allen said flatly.

“Sure I do. You’re like a thighs guy--”

Gavin shut the door and turned back to Connor, who was now prying bullets out of the corpse on the slab. So reminiscent of the slab that Gavin had in his basement. Its LED was still red, blinking erratically, as it stared blankly at the corpse underneath its hands.

Gavin snapped his fingers in front of Connor’s face.

“Red ring of death again?”

It was a little more vivid right now, but this had been a regular occurrence since it interfaced with the AX400. Gavin wondered if Connor had let a virus or something slip through, and glitched its system up.   


“I’m sorry, I was processing some information,” Connor said. Its LED blinked yellow a few times, then returned to a peaceful blue.

“Allen and Tina bugging you?”

“They were not particularly obtrusive. Allen needed a report on a body that was gunned down in a police operation recently.” Connor gestured at the body on the slab. “They just got distracted talking about…” Its LED flickered red briefly, then back to blue. “...other matters.”

“...Uh huh,” Gavin said slowly. He reached over towards the tools on the tray, internally comparing them to the tools he used for his hobby. Connor’s hand lashed out to lightly slap his hand away before he could touch. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Those tools have been sterilized. Don’t touch them with your bare hands,” Connor said stiffly.

“Oh, come on.” Gavin gestured at the corpse. “He ain’t getting any infections now.”

“It’s protocol, Detective.”

“Whatever,” Gavin grumbled. He raised his hands to indicate that he wasn’t going to touch anything else, before moving away in order to hoist himself on one of the empty slabs instead. “So? Anyone else around?”

“Jensen and Jefferson have gone on a lunch break. Captain Allen and Officer Chen have retreated to the bullpen.”

“Cool. I was thinking we could, uh… consider the next stage of our little project.”

“Excellent,” Connor said, as it pulled a chunk of bullet out of the corpse underneath its hands. It tilted the bullet left and right, examining it, before placing it on a tray next to the slab. “I will be available tonight. While I understand the need for discretion, this has been taking too long for prime efficiency.”

“You think this is taking too long? For me, this is goddamn quick. We gotta break up the murders, shitheel.”

“Perhaps if--” Connor stopped. Then pulled its mouth into an excruciatingly fake smile. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t question you. This is your operation. I’m just the machinery helping make it work,” Connor said quietly.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Oh, like that’s stopped you from sassing me before.” He shifted on the slab so that he was leaning forward a little, resting his hands in his lap. “Stop being a bitch and say it.”

“If you didn’t insist on such dramatic specifics, we could do more jobs quicker.”

“Yeah, well… fuck you, it’s my operation,” Gavin grumbled, albeit without any real heat.

Connor shook its head slightly, refocusing on the body underneath its hands.

Gavin watched as Connor continued pulling out deformed lumps of metal and placing them neatly on the tray. Gavin didn’t usually watch the morgue guys at work. He wondered if it always looked like this. Connor’s hands moved gracefully and like they were absolutely sure of their movements, like they could cut and pry to the nearest millimeter without any trouble.

His mind conjured images of Connor doing the same to a live body, still pumping blood. Of its hands bare and coated with blood as it made those graceful movements, the silvery glimmer of a scalpel as he carved a work of art. Pulling out each organ so carefully that the body kept working on without it, stretching the victim’s death out inch by agonizing inch.

He was only brought out of it by Connor mimicking what Gavin had done only moments ago and snapping his fingers in front of Gavin’s face.

“Detective Reed?”

“I’m paying attention!” Gavin snapped loudly.

“Of course you are. Were you also here for my report on the Jameson case? I will be done with that soon.”

“Yeah… yeah, I was waiting for that. I gave it to you yesterday. You’re usually done by now,” Gavin said, kicking his feet out a little as he continued to watch Connor work.

“I was occupied,” Connor said.

“Whatever, man, just don’t slow down too much. They might try getting a new computer, upgrading from Windows Vista, you know?” Gavin said jokingly.

Connor’s hands froze in the middle of its work. Gavin pulled his eyes up to actually look at Connor’s face. It was, as per usual, lacking in expression. But its LED was blaring bright red, and it wasn’t moving.

“...Uh. Plastic?”

This time, Connor didn’t immediately snap out of it. Gavin noticed that even its fake breathing protocol seemed to have just stopped.

“Hey. Heyheyhey--” Gavin slid off the slab and moved around the one that Connor was working on, before he gave it the very lightest prod on the shoulder, not wanting to shove too hard while Connor had its hands in a corpse’s chest cavity. “Plastic, you hearing me?”

“I’ll finish the report,” Connor said, tone still casual and like there hadn’t been ten solid seconds of silence in between Gavin’s upgrading comment and the response. “There is no need for--” It paused, LED blaring. “--for that.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes, as Connor’s hands started moving again and continuing on with his work. Its LED was still red, despite how Connor was attempting to pass the moment of panic off. It had sure looked like panic, at least. Which was ridiculous. Androids couldn’t panic. But what the fuck else could Gavin call it?

“If you say so, dipshit.”   


Gavin turned to go, but it felt awkward to just turn away and leave after that. He paused, hand awkwardly hovering for a moment before he smacked Connor lightly—again, too lightly to mangle Connor’s work—on the shoulder.   


“Fucking relax, alright?” Gavin said, trying to sound a little gentler than usual. “Windows Vista or not, I don’t think Fowler’s gonna get me a new murder buddy if you break down.”

He clapped Connor once more on the shoulder before moving towards the exit. He only glanced back briefly. Enough to see that Connor had still paused, hands lingering over the body. But its LED had switched from red to a blinking yellow, and then it quietly flickered back to blue.

* * *

They had a solid plan to corner Ward with minimal risk. But there was still one big danger in the plan, and Connor had picked up on it.

“Is there nowhere else we could do this?”

“This is the bar he’s visiting tonight. We can wait for a different night, but he’s still pretty likely to turn up here,” Gavin said, staring out the car window down the street at Jimmy’s Bar. “Honestly, ain’t a surprise. Criminals love that place.”

“But we’re known here.”

“Well, I’m known here,” Gavin admitted. “Since when are you--”

“This is Lieutenant Anderson’s favourite bar. I’ve retrieved him from here multiple times,” Connor said, frowning as it joined Gavin in watching the bar. They’d seen Ward go in recently, but had yet to see Hank.

“Look, Ward’s gotta be ready for punks to come at him for his goods. This is a dude who can scare an iced-up shitheel like Todd. We need to throw him off his game. Plus, drugging him is ironic as fuck and totally my jam. We get him here, he’ll be easy to nab later.”

“That’s not my concern. You know it isn’t.”

“We do this right, and no-one will realise we ever interacted with him. Besides, your profile’s broken up by the curls, the hoodie, the nerd glasses--” Gavin flicked the lenses of said glasses, causing Connor to wrinkle its nose irritably. “Even if Hank shows up, he won’t recognise you unless you look right at him.”

“This is his hoodie. It might attract attention.”

“Is he the only guy in the city to like basketball? You’ll be fine,” Gavin grumbled. “Keep your face turned away, ignore him if he does say anything, it’ll be fine. Besides, we’re not going in together. Hank’ll have no reason to look. He’s gonna be looking at me if he’s looking at anyone.”

Connor’s LED wasn’t in, but Gavin had a vague feeling that it might be red right now if it had been. Still, Connor nodded.

“I’ll have to avoid Jimmy, too.”

“Ah, he hates androids, he probably never looked too close at your face. They just stare at the branding,” Gavin said dismissively.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. I’m fucking right. Anyway, I’m going in.”

It wasn’t fully raining, but it was sprinkling enough that Gavin felt the light, rainy mist hit his face the moment he stepped out of the car. Getting into a warmer building already sounded nice. He raised a hand, squinting down the dark street. Narrow, with tall buildings either side. Lit only by the occasional neon sign, making Jimmy’s Bar a beacon in the distance. The thrum of slow guitar music from the jukebox echoing into the street.

As much shit as he gave Jimmy’s Bar, Gavin had been a regular drinker here since he was a rookie. He knew as well as Connor did how likely it was for Hank to turn up, because Hank had been the one to first bring him here. Hank had been a regular visitor to Jimmy’s Bar during those years. He’d stopped visiting as much when he had Cole. Then when Cole was gone he’d tripled the time he spent there from the old days, essentially living in that seat by the television.

As for Gavin, he wasn’t as regular but he had a very specific reputation there. One that he intended to use to his advantage today.

“Fucking god, not again,” Jimmy said the moment Gavin opened the door.

Gavin grinned as he swaggered in, plopping himself on the bar-stool closest to Jimmy. “Guy can’t come in to enjoy a drink?”

“Hey, you can enjoy all the drinks you want. No-one’s stopping you,” Jimmy said, before he nodded his head at the back, dreadlocks swaying with the motion. “But I know what’s going to happen the moment you go into that bathroom.”

“Pshh.” Gavin waved his hand dismissively. “Kick me out, then.”

Gavin knew Jimmy wouldn’t. For all the trouble that Gavin caused, at most he’d only been ejected after the second bar fight. Probably because he drunk a lot, paid both the cost of the drinks and the price of any property damage, and any fights were at least mild entertainment for a few minutes. Plus, Gavin was a detective and maybe Jimmy liked being on the good side of the cops in case of another red ice raid on his bar.

“Behave, or get out and swing your dick elsewhere,” Jimmy warned him.

“Whatever. Gimme the usual.”

As Jimmy slid a glass of kahlua over ice towards him, Gavin heard the bar’s front door open once more. He glanced over, expecting to see blond curls and puppy eyes on that skinny twink. Instead, he saw shaggy, silver hair and a massive frame.

“Oh, wow. You in a bar. Shocker,” Gavin said, grinning at Hank despite the immediate flare of panic in his gut.

Hank gave Gavin a tired, hostile look before walking past him to sit closer to the far end of the bar, already set on ignoring him. Jimmy walked over to him, and he and Hank briefly clasped hands over the bar.

“How’re you doing, Hank? Usual?”

“Eh, you know. Alive last I checked. Yeah, usual, thanks.” Hank glanced up at the television above the corner of the bar and nodded his head at it. “Can you change that to basketball? Thanks, Jim.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Gavin grumbled.

Gavin hoped that Connor wouldn’t flip its circuits and refuse to enter the bar now that Hank was here. He continued to look at Lieutenant Asshole for a moment, then cast a glance around the bar. Reasonably packed. Ward himself was sitting in one of the nearby side booths, talking to a younger man as he ate a sandwich dripping with mustard, and took occasional sips from a bottle of beer.

Difficult sleight-of-hand to pull off, but that was Connor’s concern. Not his. Gavin’s concern was being the distraction. And if there was nothing else in this world that Gavin was good at, he was amazing at making a loud, violent ass of himself.

He sipped at his kahlua before continuing to grin obnoxiously at Hank. His original plan coming in had been to bother someone in the bathroom. It was the easiest place to start a fight, because all Gavin had to do was stand too close to people at the urinal and start making negative comments about their dicks.

But the excuse--nay, opportunity--to fight Hank was too good to resist.

So he sidled closer to Hank, taking the stool beside him.

“Who watches basketball, anyway?” Gavin glanced up at the television before he refocused on Hank. “The whole precinct is about baseball except for you. You being a hipster? You being contrary about it for the sake of being a rebel, like how you have all those angry try-hard stickers?”

Jimmy rubbed his face and sighed into his hand, clearly aware of where this was going. As he did, the door squeaked open again. Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin saw a glimpse of a blue hoodie with a basketball logo on it, and glimpses of blond hair under the hood.   


Connor scanned the bar quickly, eyes lingering on Hank before averting and sliding over to Ward. It took note of the exact bottle and brand of beer he was drinking. A split second of analysis before it moved over to the bar, keeping its head turned a little away from Hank as it tugged the hood a bit further over its head.

Gavin sidled even closer to Hank, practically sharing Hank’s stool, helping to block Connor from view. Hank was steadfast in ignoring him. Gavin raised his voice, talking as loudly and obnoxiously as he could.

“So, you gonna spend all night here and turn up for work at noon tomorrow? Later? I’d say I was amazed that Fowler still keeps you on despite that, but, you know, we’ve been over the desk blowjobs theory before.”

As he chattered, he heard Jimmy move away, and then a voice that he recognized but should never have heard again, ordering a beer. Gavin paused, shoulders tensed at the sound of Kyle Turner’s youthful, nervous tone. He’d have to tell Connor later that mimicking the dead--specifically, people that Connor itself had slit the throat of--was just fucking creepy.

During Gavin’s moment of distraction, Hank planted a hand on Gavin’s shoulder and shoved him back into his own seat. His head turned towards Gavin--and by extension, towards Connor. Hank opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then stopped. Leaned slightly to his right, looking directly at the hoodie with a puzzled frown.

Gavin practically flung himself onto the bar counter, trying to force himself into Hank’s view.  


“Although, honestly, you weren’t really hot shit back in the day either. You got a couple of lucky busts. But I remember the looks.” Gavin propped his chin on his hands, grin so wide it was in severe danger of splitting his face in two. “I think maybe you banged your way up, Lieutenant Asshole. I think maybe it’s not coincidence that you stopped going anywhere once you got old and gross.”

Behind him, Connor paid for its drink. This time, Gavin had thought to give it money in advance. Jimmy’s was specifically a cash-only bar anyway. The usual clientele liked it that way. There were so many criminals who drank here, and so many that probably did deals under the table, that it wouldn’t look unusual for Connor to do so.

Hank’s eyebrows furrowed, but he still didn’t respond to Gavin. Instead, he just swatted Gavin out of his view once more before he stared back at the basketball game.

Connor picked up the beer and moved past them—still keeping its face turned away as much as it discreetly could—and walking towards the corner where the ‘Out Of This World’ arcade machine was sitting. It rested the beer on top of it, and started poking at the buttons of the machine. An excuse to keep its face turned away, to look busy. In position.

“Okay, so, now that you’re old and gross, what are you really bringing to the table? Why does Fowler cover for you? Because you ain’t shit, Hanky-Panky. You. Ain’t. Shit.”

Hank wasn’t biting. He kept his eyes up at the screen. He might have responded now if he was drunk, but sober and probably as far away from a hangover as he actually gets? And he probably knew what Gavin wanted. He was familiar enough with Gavin’s bar fighting patterns.

Gavin shifted as close as he could, and leaned on Hank’s shoulder. His next words were slow and deliberate, the breath tickling Hank’s ear.

“Maybe it’s a fucking good thing your son kicked it so he didn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of what a pathetic failure you’ve--”

Hank’s elbow slammed him right in the nose before he’d even finished the sentence, so hard that he didn’t even process the sensation of falling. Just of lying on the ground, swearing for a moment that the glowing sports flags that decorated Jimmy’s were floating around his head like cartoon birds.

“Oh, there it is,” he mumbled under his breath before scrambling back along the floor. Putting enough space between him and Hank before he jumped to his feet. “Come on, then! Prove me wrong, bi--”

Knuckles collided with his face, one of them catching the corner of his eye. Gavin caught himself on the edge of the bar. He swiped at his nose, red smearing the back of his hand as he did so. Despite a crushed nose and the world swirling around him, Gavin grinned and wobbled his way closer to Ward’s booth, or at least the approximate direction.

He could just make out Hank walking towards him. A look of stone-cold, murderous fury etched into every line of his face. Behind him, Jimmy was moving anything breakable off the bar’s surface with the speed of someone who’d done this many times.

“Got a problem with me sayin’ what’s true, Anderson?” he yelled, raising his fists and grinning maniacally. His words came out blocked, blood trickling from his nose and causing a slight splutter.

Gavin had to give Hank some credit. The guy was a fucking beast with his fists.

He kept his back to Ward’s booth. He couldn’t even tell what the fuck Connor was doing right now. All he really noticed was Hank coming at him like a truck. Gavin ducked and tried clocking him in the stomach, but his balance was so off that he couldn’t tell if he missed or if Hank was so pissed that he just hadn’t noticed.

Either way, he got shoved back and hands gripped the front of his jacket.

“You don’t talk about my son, Reed,” Hank snarled. He yanked Gavin slightly off his feet, tiptoes still skimming the ground. “You don’t.” He shook Gavin roughly. “Ever. Fucking. Mention. Him. Again.” Each word was punctuated by another shake, and then a final shove backwards as he let go.

Gavin would have directly hit Ward’s booth—and probably knocked over every drink and plate of food on the table—except that he collided with another body first. There was a clinking noise as he did so.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” came a mumble behind him, directed at Ward. The dead dealer’s voice coming out of Connor’s voice box.

“Get off my table!”

Before he could hear anything more, Hank had already grabbed him again and turned him around to give him a sharp shove in a different direction.

“You hear me? Or does this have to get nasty?” Hank growled.

Gavin’s eyes flickered to what was occurring over Hank’s shoulder now.

Connor, head turned away from the fight to avoid eye contact or being recognized, had attempted to slide past the fight like it was discreetly trying to leave before things got worse. It’d timed it so it was slipping by when Gavin got shoved back, and had caught itself on Ward’s table. The beer it had ordered was on the table right next to Ward’s identical beer, having seemingly fumbled out of Connor’s hand.

Ward was waving his hands at Connor to try and shoo it away, but his eyes were fixed on the fight rather than on the random patron who’d been knocked into his space.

“Yes, sorry, I’ll just...” Connor nodded quickly, picking up Ward’s beer instead of his own and leaving the one it’d ordered behind. Spiked with the sleeping pills that would hit Ward hard in half an hour once he drank the rest of that beer. Hazy enough that even if he was armed, he was not gonna be able to aim for shit on his walk back home.

“Are you listening to me?!” Hank shouted, causing Gavin’s attention to snap back to him. “Or do I need to smack it into your brain harder?”

Gavin tilted his head at Anderson, grinning through the blood trickling down his nose.

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the alcoholism.”

Hank pulled back a fist to punch him again, but Gavin was yanked away from Hank just before the fist connected to his face. Connor, head still tilted away from Anderson, had grabbed Gavin’s arm and started to pull him towards the entrance.

“You’re making an embarrassment of yourself. We’re going,” Connor said, still mimicking the dead dealer. It chugged the remainder of Ward’s beer before placing the bottle on the bar and then using both arms to drag Gavin.

“I can take him, I’m not a bitch!” Gavin protested, waving his free arm. He pointed at Hank. “You stay right there, I’ll be back! Hey, man, at least lemme get my drink, come on--”

Hank squinted at Gavin, then his eyes flickered to the hoodie again. All he could see of Connor from this angle.

“Hey! You! ...Hoodie guy!” Hank called out, voice sharp.

Connor froze. Not looking back, and still keeping a tight grip on Gavin’s arm. Hank took a step forward, mouth twisting.

“Look out for that asshole,” he finally said, now squinting at Gavin again. “He’s a piece of shit.”

Connor hesitated for a moment before saying, in Turner's voice, "I'll keep that in mind." With that, he started moving again and pulling Gavin with it.

“And I want my hoodie back!” Hank called after them, before turning back to the bar and climbing back onto his stool. He slumped over the bar, rubbing his forehead, before he raised a hand at Jimmy. “Better make that a double, Jim.”

Once they were out of sight of the bar’s windows, Gavin stopped trying to get out of Connor’s grip and instead slumped against Connor.

“Wow, that guy hits fucking hard,” he wheezed, reaching up to stem the trickle of blood. He could feel one of his eyes starting to swell, and he’d likely be unable to see out of it the next morning. Damn, was he gonna hurt when he woke up.

That was alright, though. Bar fights were never really about winning.

Connor said nothing. It just gave Gavin a disapproving look, assisting him in getting back to the car. Once they were there, it shoved Gavin into the passenger seat.

“I can drive!” Gavin complained.

“No, you cannot.” Connor closed the door, made its way around and climbed into the driver’s seat. The moment it did so, it pulled the hoodie off--leaving only the white t-shirt despite the slightly chilly, rainy weather--and folded it up. “He knows it was me.”

“He doesn’t know,” Gavin grumbled. “He would have used your name.”

“What other logical explanation is there for him asking for his hoodie back? He knows it was his.”

“Oh, there’s tons of reasons. I’ve had people borrow my leather jacket before. There was this one SWAT guy who went around wearing it for months after the DPD Christmas party. Had to have a second one-night-stand with him to get it back. And Anderson… that dude fucks. One of the best distractions from grief. Fair amount of dudes around Jimmy’s that are down for that, and they all got whiskey-dick so they don’t notice how shit he is..”

Connor grimaced, looking out the window towards Jimmy’s Bar. It gazed for a long moment.

“You brought up Cole,” it said quietly.

Gavin grimaced as well, pinching his nose to try and stop the bleeding. “Yeah, I did. God, you gonna get pissy at me over that? Look, I know it was low. But how the fuck else was I meant to get him to fight me? You were in position. It was the quickest way.”

“Lieutenant Anderson is in a precarious place, emotionally. Bringing up Cole will make him worse, especially since the possibility is high that he’s already had similar thoughts regarding his degradation.”

“He’s not gonna jump off a cliff because of one bar fight. Fucking relax.” When Connor continued to frown, Gavin huffed and said, “It was the fucking efficient option. Aren’t you the one who’s about that? Either give me a better reason than ‘ooh, feelings’ or quiet the fuck down.”

Connor went silent after that, although it still looked troubled. Gavin rolled his eyes as he dabbed at his nose, then rubbed his eyes. The world was still twirling somewhat.

“Tell me when Ward leaves, I can’t keep shit in focus right now,” Gavin said.

“And yet you thought you were good to drive?”

“Shut up. I got a first-aid kit under the driver’s seat, hand it over. Gotta pass the time anyway.”

The next twenty minutes were passed in silence as they waited for Ward to leave Jimmy’s Bar. Gavin dabbed at his nose and eye, a process he had done hundreds of times over the years. Connor sat still, its stiff posture the only tip-off to its inhuman nature.

Finally, Ward left Jimmy’s Bar. He wasn’t fully off his ass on either the beer or the sleep medication, but there was a noticeable wobble to his step. He started off down the road, the usual path he would take to get home.

Connor looked at Gavin, who nodded a little, before it started the car up and started to drive to the planned ambush location, midway between Jimmy’s Bar and Ward’s home a few blocks away.

“I take it that you have your unnecessarily ironic method ready?” Connor asked.

“Actually, I was thinking about going back to basics with this one. We already got the irony in the capture method--drugging the drug dealer and all that--and I couldn’t think of a method of torture that I didn’t do last time. ‘Injecting with your own crime’ is too much of a crutch to do each time. Craving some blood, anyway.”

“I see,” Connor said. “You can finish this one quicker, then.”

Gavin looked sideways at Connor, then forward again. Tilting the hand he’d used to wipe blood from his nose earlier, the red stain on the back still evident. Thinking about Connor’s skilled hands slicing and prying at that body in the morgue.

“I want your help,” Gavin said.

“I am helping.”

“With the murder, dipshit. I want you to help me kill this guy. Personally.”

“Why?”

Gavin groaned irritably before saying, “What does it matter? I thought you were going to listen to me. Fucking rule… 3 or 4 or something.”

“Rule 3 was, specifically, 'fucking obey.'” Connor turned the wheel, more focused on the road than on Gavin. “Saying you want something from me isn’t an order. It’s a request.”

“Well, maybe I wanna order you to help.”

“That’s indecisive language, Detective. If you order me to, then I will do what is ordered. But you’re not giving a clear order. You just keep asking me to help while denying that it is actually necessary. ‘Maybe I want to order you’ isn’t an order. That’s a half-baked musing at most.”

Gavin was racking his brain for a reason that didn’t make him sound like a crazy person. ‘Because I keep daydreaming about you carving someone up?’ ‘Because I want to share the experience?’ Murder aside, what was the point of sharing an experience with a robot? It was like taking a toaster on a trip to Paris.

That’s what Gavin wanted, though. He’d never shared the experience of murdering someone with anyone. Not even Elijah. He wanted to know what it was like. Wanted to know if someone, even a piece of plastic, could enjoy it like he did.

And as much as he complained about Connor not taking orders the rest of the time, somehow ordering Connor to enjoy a murder with him took away from it.

Gavin couldn’t think of an answer by the time the car came to a halt in the ambush location. They parked in a small side alley that Ward would pass by, and waited.

“No cameras. No surveillance drones this close by. Nothing worth guarding in the area,” Connor said quietly. “You should wait here. You would be uncoordinated in your current state.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin grumbled. He’d be likely to leave his own blood at the scene of the crime like this, given that it was still smudged all over his hands. Connor nodded before climbing out of the car. Gavin watched him walk off around the corner, and waited for the noise of a scuffle.

He didn’t hear anything. Didn’t see anything until Connor reappeared with Ward’s unconscious body slung over its shoulders effortlessly. Connor moved behind the car, and Gavin felt the slight squeak of the car’s weight shifting as Ward was placed in the trunk. He waited while Connor tied him up, gagged him, and then returned to the driver’s seat. Connor held a handgun now, one that must have previously belonged to Ward.

“You’re sneaky. I’ll give you that,” Gavin said. “Did you even need to drug him?”

“He had a gun on him. Without the slower reaction time, there’s an 84% chance he would have managed to fire a shot and alert the neighborhood before I knocked him unconscious,” Connor said. As it recited these facts, it unloaded the handgun before leaning over Gavin to place it inside the glove box. “There’s a 34% chance he would have hit me if that had occurred.”

“Numbers. Right.”

Connor started the car up once more, moving from the dimly lit streets of this part of Detroit towards the busier highway, bright lights streaming over them for a while as they headed to the edges of the city. Gavin tried to watch Connor out of the corner of his eye, but had to turn his head once he realised the bruising was catching up to him. Gavin thus stared more blatantly for a while, then sighed and rested against the car door, crossing his arms.

“You don’t have anything to do once we get there. You can’t clean up until I’m done, and fuck knows I’m still gonna take my time even if I’m not going for twenty pounds of irony on the torture. There’s no car to get rid of this time, and any evidence outside the basement will be minimal at best.”

Connor didn’t look away from the road, but Gavin knew it was listening from the minute creasing of its eyebrows.

“I know you can kill. And fuck if you don’t have a flair for dramatic timing, I mean… that whole thing where you got the car to roll up with Turner sitting up all normal except that his throat was slit? Badass.”

Connor still didn’t respond. Gavin shifted a little closer to it, watching the street lights ripple over its features. Imagining blood trickling over those features instead. Gavin gnawed on his lip as he tried to figure out his words.

“You’re good at this, Connor,” he finally said. “I want to see how good you really are.”

Connor continued to say nothing. Gavin scowled and flopped back into the passenger seat.

“Fine, whatever. Be useless.”

There was the tiniest flinch from Connor at those words.   


Gavin stared out the window as the highway faded into a regular road, which then faded into cracked concrete as they headed into the spaced out, largely abandoned houses on the edge of the city. The lights becoming rarer, then almost non-existent.

Finally, in the dim light provided only by the glowing lights of the car’s dashboard, Connor spoke.

“I will assist.”

“For real?” Gavin sat up properly. “You’re down?”

“It won’t cause any significant delays in disposing of the evidence. And… and you make it sound urgent, order or not.”   


Connor gazed at the cracked, bumpy road. The yellows and reds of the dashboard reflecting off its face gave the illusion of what its LED would be doing if it had it in right now.

“I am good at what I do,” it said quietly. “If this is necessary to prove it, then--

“Ohhh, hell yeah!” Gavin threw his arms into the air, grinning ear to ear. “We’re gonna make a fucking mess! It’s gonna be so great!”

“If you say so, Detective.”

“I do say so! We’re gonna have fun, dammit.”

“I don’t have the capacity to enjoy things, Detective. You know that.”

“Yeah. Maybe. We’ll see.”


	10. Be Still, My(?) Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin tries to teach Connor, and learns something about himself in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS, this chapter is probably the goriest that Volume 1 is going to get. But I assume if you're this far that you're down with the gore, given the premise.

Gavin hadn’t been itchy until this very moment.

He was excited, of course. Always was when it was time to kill. But he hadn’t been itchy. It hadn’t progressed into a need yet. Marshall had only been two weeks ago, and he’d had a good two weeks so his irritation hadn’t ramped up like it had between Mr. Family-Bake-Off and the young drug dealer.

But now the itch was starting to tingle down his spine. Though maybe it wasn’t an itch to personally kill. Rather, to see Connor work.

Ward was strapped to the slab, still unconscious. A gangly, middle-aged form in a sweater vest. Connor had given an estimate for when he’d wake up. Any minute now, after fifteen minutes of standing there waiting.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I could be--” Connor started.

“For the last time, yes!”

Connor was back in its usual uniform. Largely out of practicality, as its android uniform was more resistant to blood than Hank’s old basketball hoodie. However, reinstalling its LED was not part of that practicality.   


Gavin had insisted, with the outward reason that Connor might as well if it was already wearing the uniform again. In truth, he wanted to see what colours it turned when Connor dug in to Ward.

“If you don’t do it, you’re just gonna end up peeking through the door like a creeper,” Gavin said as he paced around the slab. He stopped behind Connor and leaned over its shoulder, pushing it slightly closer to Ward. “Forget about the mission. Forget about efficiency. Just do what feels natural.”

“I don’t have anything ‘natural’ outside of the mission,” Connor said quietly.

“Just fucking try, alright?”

Before they could talk further, Ward started to stir. He mumbled under his breath before his eyes flickered open. Gaze unfocused, but quickly sharpening as he realised his arms and legs were bound down. He tried to jerk his arms up, with no success. The straps were too firm.

“Huh? Hey! What the fu--” His eyes landed on Connor’s face and he stopped for a moment, squinting, before trying to squirm further away. “What the fuck is this?!”

Connor tilted its head as it looked down at Ward. Its LED pulsed a bright yellow one, two, three times. Then it flickered to blue, and it gave that bland almost-smile that it gave every new person.

“Hello,” it said cheerfully. “My name is Connor. I’m the android assigned to the DPD morgue.”

“...What,” Ward said weakly.

Gavin covered his face for a moment. “Oh god.”

“You’re cops?!” Loud again after the moment of quiet confusion. “What the fuck is this?! Why would a morgue guy be--” Ward paused, looking back and forth between Gavin, before he focused on Gavin. “Weren’t you the asshole from the bar? The one mocking Hank about his dead son? Hey, that was fucked up, man.”

“You’re gonna lecture me? You deal drugs!” Gavin protested.

“I’m making a living! Also, fuck you! I don’t do that anymore!” Ward yanked his wrists forward as much as he could. “The hell are you doing? This a police sting?! You’re doing it wrong! I served my time already, I--”

Connor snapped its fingers, the hologram appearing above its hand as it did so. Kara’s memory flickered in the air, depicting Ward delivering ice to Todd, flipping over a chair, and pausing on the shot where his face was illuminated by a lamp. Ward visibly deflated as he watched it.

“Fucking androids.” He tugged on the bindings again. “Fine, fine, you got me. But then what the hell is this? Last I checked, the DPD didn’t tie live people to their morgue slabs.”

“Mr. Ward, my job is to stop crime in the most efficient manner possible.” Connor sat down on the slab next to Ward, hands clasped in its lap, and continued to talk in the typical ‘customer service’ voice that many androids used. “I can assist you in looking at this from a positive perspective. With the scale of supplying you were doing, you would be looking at a lengthy jail sentence. At your age, there’s a 99% chance of you dying behind bars. Decades of jail time seems tedious, so I’m here to help you get that all done in one night. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

“...What? Come on, you have to be fucking with me. Fuck that! I’ll take the jail time!”

“Really?” Connor asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to die!”

“But I won’t be interrupting anything important."

Gavin had pulled over a chair, and was sitting on it backwards with his arms folded on the backrest as he watched. Not quite sure if Connor was going somewhere specific with this or if it had just decided that having a nice chat was what ‘felt natural.’ It was a little less jeery than what Gavin was used to, but he couldn’t deny that he’d be freaked out if he was on the table

“I’m afraid, Mr. Ward, that I have no choice at this stage. We didn’t quite do this investigation by official police procedure,” Connor admitted. “If we arrested you in the traditional manner, we’d likely have to let you go entirely. It would also provoke several uncomfortable questions about--” Connor waved its hand at the surroundings. “You must be smart enough to realise that. Accountant, weren’t you?”

“Ohh, like you don’t fucking know.”

“Androids took your job, huh?” Gavin said from his seat. “Drive you to the red ice trade? Now one’s driving you right back out of it?”

“Detective Reed, please, I’m trying to have a conversation,” Connor said.

“Well, it’s taking a long time. You could be a tiny bit more efficient, actually.

“Oh.” Connor turned away and picked up one of the knives arranged on the surrounding counters, immediately turning to hold it above Ward’s throat, ready to plunge down. Gavin had to lunge forward to catch its wrist.

“Not that efficient!” Gavin yelled, as Ward tried to squirm away, eyes wide as even yelling failed him.

Connor looked at Gavin, LED pulsing yellow again, before lowering the knife. “You’re being very controlling of this for someone who wants me to ‘do what feels natural.’”

“Oh my god,” Gavin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, alright, hold on. Speaking of conversation... I got kind of a procedure here, I got one more thing I have to do before you go to town on this guy.”

“Is this the clothing fixation?”

Gavin ignored Connor, instead shifting his chair so that it was closer to Ward before leaning on the back of it again.

“See, Connor’s not quite correct. I can change my mind. I can still let you go.”

“No you can’t,” Connor said flatly.

“Physically there’s nothing stopping me, asshole.” Gavin leaned to the side, now resting one of his hands on the slab by Ward’s face. “All you have to do is convince me that you deserve to go free.”

Ward watched Gavin silently, eyes narrowed.

“He knows my name and my assigned role, Detective,” Connor said.

“And now he knows my rank, too, so stop blabbing. Besides, no-one’s convinced me yet.” Gavin raised his hand and held his thumb and pointer an inch apart. “This much chance of him doing it.” With that, he rested that same hand back on the slab. “So you, Dennis, better have a damn good reason hidden in that comfy-looking sweater vest of yours, because otherwise I’m really looking forward to taking a square.”

Ward pulled a few times on the wrist bindings first, but this time it was half-hearted. After a moment he slumped.

“I got a family. I got kids. I want to see my daughters grow up,” Ward said, voice strained and pleading. His eyes moved over to Connor, who was now looming over Gavin’s shoulder. “You want to know what you’d be interrupting. That. That’s what.”

Gavin groaned as he leaned back on the chair. “Oh god, that’s so cliche.”

“Does reproducing mean they get to live?” Connor asked Gavin in what was almost a stage-whisper.

“No, no it fuckin’ doesn’t!” Gavin leaned forward again. “Man, you think I haven’t heard that one before? I told you to give me a good reason, and fucking your wife twice doesn’t absolve you of your crimes.”

“What do you want me to say, then?! I was making a living--”

“You’re a manufacturer. A big one. That’s far beyond making a living. You’re going around the city making deliveries and threatening people. I could believe it was ‘just a living’ if you were one of the low-time dealers. But if it started that way, it fuckin’ went off.” Gavin got up, kicking his chair some distance away. “Man, your kids ain’t even gonna be orphaned. I’ve heard so much better that didn’t get the pass.”

“Fuckin’... the hell are you even doing? Some kind of vigilante bullshit?! You think you’re better than me when you have a torture table?! You and your fucking serial killer bullshit?!”

Gavin grasped Connor’s shoulder, turning him away from Ward as the man continued to rant at them, back to squirming on the slab. Directing his attention back to the array of knives, tools and other torture implements.

“So… forgetting efficiency for now… if you were to kill someone slow, what would you use?” Gavin asked, talking over Ward’s ranting.

“That’s not part of my directive,” Connor said.

“Then use your imagination, dipshit.” Gavin looked at the tools, then reached over several of them to pick up a scalpel. Gleaming silver from the bright light just over the slab. “You like scalpels, right? Autopsies and shit.”

Connor took the scalpel from his hand, fingers brushing over Gavin’s own in the process, before twirling it in its hand. Ward continued to shout from behind them.

“He’s slightly too alive for an autopsy,” Connor mused.

“How much difference does it really--Ward, I’m trying to talk!” Gavin yelled behind him. “Your turn’s over now, shut up!” He turned back to Connor and slung an arm around its shoulders to steer it back towards the slab, pulling it back to Ward before grasping its wrist. “So, what would you do if this was an autopsy?”

“Y-incision,” Connor responded immediately.

“See, snap decision. Natural. Where would that start? Here?” Gavin moved Connor’s wrist so that the knife was posed somewhere around the stomach, the other hand resting on Connor’s shoulder. Ward wriggling as much as he could but held down by the bindings.

“Not even close, Detective,” Connor said as it rolled its eyes. “Clearly you never studied anatomy.”

“Shut up.”

“In any case, it’s not going to be the same as an autopsy, autopsies are done when there’s no blood pressure except for gravity so carving him open like that will cause an extensive mess--”

“Mess is fine. Fuck, mess just makes it fun. It’s like playing in the mud as a kid--no, you never did that, you didn’t have a childhood. Except maybe as a AA battery or something,” Gavin mused.

“And he will bleed out very quickly if I follow the exact path I would follow in an autopsy, as that will open his entire chest cavity.”

“How do you do this in surgery, then?”

“I’m not a surgeon and you don’t have an electrocautery device.”

“Why are you making this so goddamn difficult?” Gavin huffed. “Really killing my fun here.”

Although Ward was still thrashing and attempting escape, there was a glimmer of frustration mixed into his features along with the terror as he listened to them argue. Connor eyed Ward for a moment, before it turned to gaze around the room. It hadn’t moved away from Gavin’s grip.

“Do you have anything that’ll conduct heat? Enough to cauterize any wounds?”

“I have a saw made to cook toast when you use it on bread.”

“...Anything smaller?” Connor said, after giving Gavin a confused look.

“I got wires and a blowtorch?”

“Retrieve them. It won’t be efficient, but it’ll cauterize the bleeding enough to delay his expiration.”

Gavin normally would pout over being given so many directions, but there was excitement buzzing under his skin, crackling like pop rocks, as he opened and shut cabinets trying to locate the relevant items. Behind him, Connor twirled the scalpel once before bringing it down to neatly slice away parts of Ward’s sweater vest and the shirt underneath.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Ward. I’m very knowledgeable in anatomy,” Connor said brightly as it did so. “More than Detective Reed--”

“Aaaand now he knows my name,” Gavin muttered under his breath as it pulled out a bundle of wires.

“I would ask that you try not to squirm around too much, as that’ll make this more difficult for me. But I understand if you don’t listen.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you think no-one’s gonna notice I’m missing? You think they won’t figure out it was your asshole partner after that mess he made at Jimmy’s? Fuck you! You’re gonna get caught, you let me out now before things get worse for—mmf!

Connor, having sliced through the shirt at this stage, wadded up a portion and jammed it into Ward’s mouth.

“Your turn to talk is over now, as established earlier,” Connor told him calmly.

“Keep a square of the sweater vest for me!” Gavin called out as he found the blowtorch, and wrapped some cloth around the ends of the wires so that Connor wouldn’t burn lines in its fingers if it held the heated wire. “I don’t have a lot of sweater vest in my collection, makes a change from shirts.

“If you insist.” Connor rolled up the somewhat shredded sweater vest and placed it nearly on a nearby countertop. Gavin slapped the wires into Connor’s hand, putting the blowtorch next to the slab before resting his hands on the surface as he leaned forward, looking over Ward’s bare chest with an almost clinical eye before returning to gazing at Connor as it prepared to go to work.

Connor heated up the wire with the blowtorch, keeping the blowtorch so it was only skimming it in order to not melt the whole wire through, until it was glowing a cherry red. Connor wrinkled its nose as it did so, however.

“That’s not going to last,” it muttered, as it put down the blowtorch and picked up the scalpel again.

“Eh, what else is improvising for?” Gavin said.

Connor glanced over at him and said, “I thought I was meant to be helping you. I assumed you’d be taking the lead on this.

“Fuck, what do you want me to do? I’ll help. I just want to see where you’re going with it.”

“Then hold the blowtorch ready, the heat in this wire won’t last long.”

Gavin picked up the blowtorch once more, still leaning over Ward as he did so. Connor transferred the hot wire to its left hand before moving the scalpel, the light from the bright lamp directly above leaving spots on Gavin’s vision as it bounced off metal, so that it was hovering above the left shoulder.

“To correct your earlier mistake, Detective… a Y-incision starts here.

Connor pressed the scalpel down, moving from the front of the left shoulder and carving down. What had been irritable, terrified protests became louder and more high-pitched as Ward’s muffled screaming strained through the impromptu gag. He was thrashing, and that was causing the scalpel to make a wigglier line than Connor was aiming for.  


Blood was welling up in the cut, and it started to dribble down and leave streaks across the skin, but there was no squirting. The line only skin-deep. Not until Connor had made its way along the left shoulder and moved over to do the line from the right shoulder to the point where the two would meet did Ward jerk in precisely the wrong direction, accidentally jamming his torso further into Connor’s scalpel.

Connor didn’t even blink when blood squirted up into the side of its face, instead immediately shoving the wire in there to try and seal the cut.

“I told you not to do that,” Connor said to Ward, who was clearly not listening. Eyes so wide that the whites were visible, the noises already getting hoarse and even worse now that there was a burning wire inside of him.

Connor’s LED had flickered yellow for a moment during the accidental incision, but was now pulsing a calm, steady blue. Contrasting heavily with the red now dripping down the right side of its face.

Gavin found his breath catching in his throat for a moment.

“Heat this up, please,” Connor said, pushing the wire into Gavin’s hands.

Gavin snapped himself out of it for the moment in order to do so, shoving the wire back into Connor’s hand as soon as he could.

Connor continued slicing away, touching the wire here and there and regularly passing it back to Gavin for more heat as the sound of Ward’s muffled screaming continued to continuously pulse like music coming from a neighbor’s house. Despite its attempts to cauterize, its hands were quickly getting coated in red.

“If this were an autopsy I would now peel back the skin and tissue to expose the rib cage,” Connor mused. “He’s not going to last long if I do that, even with the cauterization. This is just not an optimal situation to keep someone alive in.”

“Damn, can’t like… expose the heart or anything?”

“I could, but--”

“I kinda want to touch a heart while it’s still beating,” Gavin said lightly. “It’s always a bitch getting through the damn rib cage in time.”

Connor looked down at Ward, eyes flickering here and there. Its LED flickered yellow for a few moments, then blue again.

“Normally I’d remove the esophagus first, then the lungs… if I was doing a thorough examination and inspecting all the organs for--”

“I don’t care about the blow-by-blow, ruins the surprise, I just want to see you do it. Can you? That shit sounded complicated. Bet you can’t.”

Connor straightened up and frowned at Gavin. “I can,” it said, tone affronted.

“Ooooh, hit a sore spot, did I?”

“No. I know what I’m capable of--”

“Oh yeah?” Gavin leaned forward, grinning. “Bet you fifty bucks you can’t do it. If you do manage, I get to touch the heart. So I win either way.”

“I need a surgical saw for the ribs, or alternatively something to crack them open with--”

“Uh, I dunno about surgical saws. I have the bread saw, a regular saw... Hold on a second.” After a few moments of rummaging around in the surrounding cabinets, pulling out an assortment of half-forgotten implements that Gavin hadn’t used in years, he placed both a regular saw and a hammer next to Connor.

Connor picked up the hammer, looked at it, then gave Gavin a wordless stare.

“Hey, that’ll crack him open,” Gavin protested. “I saw it in a medical video.”

Connor raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Okay, I played Surgeon Simulator when I was fourteen.”

“Was it accurate?” Connor asked as it put the hammer down.

“Not especially, no.” Gavin gestured at the blood still welling from the incision. “Dude’s gonna bleed out if we keep yammering. Get to the heart, man, come on.”

Connor’s LED started steadily circling yellow. As it did, it started peeling back the skin and tissue to expose the breastplate. Unlike in the morgue, where the flesh had been kept cold and been dead for a while, the colours here were vivid. Muscle twitching and pulsing under Connor’s hands. It was both similar and utterly dissimilar to what Gavin had imagined earlier that day.   


He hadn’t imagined the smell. The muffled wails, by now raspy and airless. The blood dripping down pale, speckled skin. Being here was just so much more real than his half-assed daydreams. Part of Gavin didn’t want the moment to end, even as he was eager to see what came next.

“He’s not going to be still,” Connor said quietly. “Can I knock him out?”

“Fuck no. You’re forfeiting the bet if you cheap your way out of this. And you don’t even own money, so I don’t know how the fuck you’re gonna pay me fifty bucks.”

“It won’t matter.” Connor held out its hand. “Saw.”

“Go, man, go!” Gavin handed him the saw before clapping. “Come on, man, get that heart!”

Connor held the saw over the body, Ward thrashing so hard that Gavin could swear he heard the pop of a dislocated limb from the attempts at wrenching his limbs free. It seemed like a last effort, energy dwindling away as blood streamed steadily down his torso.

Connor moved the saw like it was going to go in from the sides, to carefully open the chest cavity with the rib cage as one intact piece like it would in the morgue. Tilting the saw left, then right, considering its angle. LED yellow, yellow, yellow.

Then it instead moved so the saw was hovering right above the sternum instead. LED blue.

“Can you hold his torso down? I need him to be still."

“Cheater,” Gavin grumbled.

“I’m using the tools at my disposal,” Connor said, stressing the word ‘tool’ slightly as it looked at Gavin. “Do you want to hold his heart or not?”

Gavin immediately reached over to put pressure on Ward’s shoulders and chest, where the strap didn’t control him so much. This did mean just slapping his hands onto some of the bloodier areas, which was not particularly soothing to Ward. He was… quieter in a sense, but not for lack of trying. He’d just been screeching so long and continuously that it was like air coming out of a balloon filled with sandpaper.

“This… may prove difficult,” Connor said before tilting the saw very slightly to the left and sawing down, sharp and vicious.

Gavin had to press all his weight down to even attempt to keep Ward still, elbows on the shoulders and hands on the chest, and even then did so with only limited success because this was very much not appreciated by their victim. Not that he figured Ward even really understood what was happening anymore, apart from a general sense of mind-numbing, world-ending pain.   


This was really the sort of murder that would have been better for a doctor who’d killed patients on purpose or something. Damn. He’d have to keep this idea in mind if that came up.

Connor sawed through cartilage before lifting the saw and doing the same a little to the right, trying to loosen the bone that was keeping it from reaching its grand prize. As it did so, there was a massive squirt, stronger than the last. This time Gavin got a good bit of it, too, blinking furiously at all the blood suddenly in his eyes.

“Oh god, what’d you do?!” Gavin yelled.

Connor kept sawing anyway, not even slowing down. “It was in the way. I can still make it to the heart.”

“What was it?!”

“Unimportant.”

“We’re literally coated in blood, I think it was--"

“Do you have a—no, of course you don’t, never mind.” Whatever Connor had wanted, instead he jammed the saw in sideways and pushed like it was trying to pry the sternum aside, like someone trying to get a jar lid open with a knife. “I’m going to need the scalpel in a moment.

Ward’s movement was quickly slowing under Gavin’s hands, reduced to a seizure-like twitch. Whatever Connor had cut, despite its admission that it was ‘unimportant,’ had clearly been very vital. Gavin lifted one arm to grab the scalpel, not needing to press down so hard to control the dying man, and handed it to Connor.

It was hard to see what Connor was doing inside Ward’s chest from this angle, and Gavin’s gaze—despite an avid interest in what Connor was doing to Ward—slid up to Connor’s face. Its LED was now pulsing red, making the blood that was now liberally splattering its cheek and dripping down its face and neck onto its normally pristine uniform look all the redder.

The LED abruptly switched back to blue.

“You owe me fifty dollars, Detective.”

Something large, damp and still pulsing was dropped into Gavin’s bare hands.

Gavin straightened up, hands cupped as it held the still-beating heart up closer to its face, stunned by what he was holding. He’d heard that the heart could continue to beat for a bit out of the body. He’d never gotten to see it happen.

He looked at the pulsing heart, still partially coated in a sheet of something white and greasy with jagged edges, something that Connor had clearly sliced around in a hurry to free the organ from Ward’s chest. He could feel vivid, red droplets still rolling down his own face, and when he looked up Connor was gazing at him expectantly. Puppy eyes in the middle of blood splatters, that strand of dark hair now red and damp and dripping steadily onto his face.

Gavin opened his mouth, then shut it.

He felt warm in both the face and stomach, and he could feel a heavy, fast beat in his chest like his own heart was gonna shred through him just as Connor had done to Ward.

“Detective Reed? Was that adequate?”

“Adequate,” Gavin said, voice croaky.

Connor’s mouth quirked up the tiniest bits at the corners. That just made the hammering in Gavin’s chest go even harder.

Gavin was lacking words. He couldn’t even think of what he wanted to say. His nose was full of the smell of blood and a slightly burnt scent that reminded him of barbecue from the attempts at cauterizing, and there was that blood just drip-drip-dripping down the side of Connor’s face.

He wasn’t thinking. He just reached out and absently wiped the back of his hand along where the blood was trickling. Bloody streaks being left behind. Connor tilted his head, giving Gavin a puzzled look.

“What are--

Gavin, still clear of thought, turned his hand around and rubbed the pad of his thumb along Connor’s cheek, admiring how the red shifted and at the paleness underneath those streaks. Connor’s LED went yellow, brightly pulsing. He made no attempt to move away, nor did he step forward. But he tilted his face slightly into Gavin’s hand, allowing the contact. Eyes blinking in a way that made him look relaxed, almost sleepy.

“...Detective?” Connor said slowly.

“Hmm?” The absent noise leaving Gavin’s throat as he traced over Connor’s face. There was a primal, urgent need to touch more.

“Masturbation or intercourse this close to the body would run a risk of leaving inappropriate evidence--

Gavin yanked his hand away.

“Goddammit, asshole, I know! I wasn’t--I’m not--” He spluttered, still clutching Ward’s heart close to his chest with one hand even as the other recoiled from Connor’s face like it’d been burned. He opened and shut his mouth a couple of times before he pointed angrily at Connor’s face and bellowed, “You are the worst mood-killer!”

With that, he turned away from both Connor and the corpse on the table to stomp upstairs. The blood on his face was starting to dry, and it was uncomfortable and sticky. He needed to wash off. Needed to think.

“You shouldn’t carry that elsewhere--” Connor started.

Needed a cold shower, that was for fucking certain. No matter how much he was currently seized by the urge to just roll Ward off that slab, shove Connor onto it instead and grind up against him.

He wasn’t Elijah. He didn’t need to touch plastic.

He was still carrying the heart.

* * *

Connor remained still for a moment, watching Gavin ignore its advice and leave while carrying a human organ with him. Then it turned back and eyed the body on the slab, fingers resting under its chin as it considered it. It left further streaks along its jaw, but Connor would need to wash anyway. More staining wouldn’t matter.

It gazed at Ward’s frozen face—whether Ward had been dead or not when the heart had been separated from his body, he sure was now—and, unwilling, its mind started to play back Kara’s memories. Ward pushing over furniture and implicitly threatening Todd. Todd standing over Kara while it tried to put its legs back into their sockets.   
  


> **usȩ̸̡̡̠̘̭̮̗̪̃͑̓͆́̒̽̇ your̴̲̭͎̗͖̅̈̑͋̚͞ ima̧̛̫͖͓͆̎̏̏͘͟͢͞͠g̷͕̞͎̥̅̿̽̒͂͒͟͠i̵̡̛̗̞̦̼̪͚̻͇̜͂͗̉͛̌̾͐̚ņ̨̜̘̬͔͉̱̈̏͌͗̓̃̏̐͑̾͜ḁ̡̜̰̗̣̥̌̋̃̾̓͡tion̨̢̨̰͉͕͇̻̿̈́̃̿̆͢,̱̫̗̯͈̱̺͉̣̆̊̔͒̅̌̏̆̕͝ ḑ͙̣̪̻̬̀͛̒͐͢͡ͅipshit**

  
A brief preconstruction of having Todd on this slab instead, even though Todd and Ward could not physically look more different.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

  
Connor opened its eyes, unaware of when it had closed them. It archived the preconstruction for later consideration. Right now it had other considerations--   
  


> **> OBJECTIVE: CLEAN UP THE CRIME SCENE**
> 
> **> DISASSEMBLE THE BODY**
> 
> **> CLEAN THE BASEMENT**
> 
> **> TRANSPORT THE BODY TO A DISCREET LOCATION**

  
Connor reached up to where Gavin had smudged the blood along its cheekbone. It was an unusual touch. Unfamiliar. The touches that Connor usually received were often violent. Shoves, shoulder checks, punches. That had, until recently, been true from Detective Reed as much as anyone else, perhaps more.

Until now. No, this had started earlier. Reed had grabbed its shoulders the night that they’d played pool, complimented it. Now that Connor was assisting directly, the touching had gotten more frequent. Leaning on it, shifting its wrists. Touches that Connor could dismiss as educational. But the face… that had been different from anything so far.

Not even Hank had ever tried to express any touch more than a shoulder clap.

Connor continued to trace its own fingers along the smudges where Reed had touched its face.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Connor didn’t have an understanding for the feedback that it had received. It could read the other bodily signs, all indicating arousal and excitement, but Reed’s behavior was at odds with it.

But it was a machine designed to inspect. To learn. To discover the missing fact that would complete its knowledge. If Connor had been programmed for nothing else, it had been programmed to be curious.

It was only natural--   
  


> **just d̜̗͇̝̣͖͖͋̌̃̚o whą̵̫̣͇̠̖͎͆̈́͂̋̅͞t fę̸͚̫͚̜͚͔͎̐̽̊̇͟͝͡ȩ̱̹̩͚͔̲̞̃̊͆̂̚͠͠ls ņ͓̯̣̫͇̯̈͒̋̇͘͝ä̵̡̗̹̣͚͍̜̝́̃̓͆͊̚tu̝̼̰͇̪͂̐͌͆͆͠ř̵̗̟̬̝͉͚̥͂̽̌̋͘͟ą̤̦͙̬̰̳̪̰̽̆̎̐͟͞l**
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**   
>    
> 

\--that it temporarily shelved its objective in favour of examining what it didn’t fully understand.

Connor turned away from Ward and continued upstairs, the same way that Gavin had gone. The sound of running water already echoing through the house.


	11. <OBJECTIVE COMPLETE>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin tries to dissuade his own heated feelings. Connor questions him on why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning For Fuck.
> 
> For those who aren't about it, I'd advise skipping to the end of the scene once consent is given. Then skip to the sentence 'Why would they?' (minus the quotations) and you'll be in the first sentence after the sex scene.
> 
> This one is more easily skippable than the second one will be. I'll figure out a way to summarize that one later.
> 
> Also:  
> a) This is an odd chapter POV wise for the most part.  
> b) The formatting might be a little wonky I'm admittedly rich text editing this in a fucking rush because I have work in like four minutes. It should be readable but I might tweak that tomorrow.

Gavin, after he’d stomped to the bathroom in a huff, was left with a very important question. What the fuck was he meant to do with a human heart?

He stood in the middle of the tiny bathroom, pants and jacket kicked off and dumped in the corner, as he cradled the heart in his hands and stared down at it with a frown. It had stopped beating. The thrill of holding it had gone once the heartbeat had. Like a bouquet that had started to go rotten--

Oh my god, he did not just compare the heart to a bouquet.

“Fuuuuck!” Gavin bellowed, tossing the heart into the sink. It landed with a wet plop, leaving a bloody smear along the edge of the porcelain.

Once that was done, he continued to strip. The bathroom was so small that he kept almost bumping his elbows on the nearby shower glass. The shower was already kind of grimy, but fuck if it wasn’t going to be coated in blood soon anyway. Gavin hurled himself into the shower, turning on the cold water and ignoring the hot water tap entirely.

“Aaaaagh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he yelped, cringing when the utterly predictable chill of the water hit him. Still, it was helping him calm down and numbing the ache. Distracting him from the thoughts that had rushed through his mind downstairs.

There had always been something soothing about a shower, cold or not, after a kill. About the sight of watching the running water turn pink, then red, as it streamed down him and trickled down the drain. Gavin started to breathe a little steadier as the evidence of his criminal hobby washed away.

Then the shower door slid open.

“Detective Reed--“

Gavin stumbled backwards, slipping and just barely catching himself before gravity took hold and made him slam his face on the shower taps. He would forever deny the high-pitched yelp he made.

“Stop screaming, it’s just--”

“Red-313-Execute!” Gavin bellowed.

> **< DEACTIVATION CODE RECEIVED.**
> 
> **FORCED SHUTDOWN IN PROGRESS... >**

Once Gavin had caught his breath, slumped against the somewhat disgusting tiles of the shower wall, he stared at the frozen form of Connor standing in front of him. Still coated in blood, one hand resting against the shower door, and seemingly staring at him with that dead look in his puppy dog eyes.

He tried to turn back to the shower and finish up. But it was impossible to relax with that dead stare focused on him. Instead, Gavin sighed and turned off the water before he rubbed his nose irritably, fingers trailing along the old scar on the bridge as he did so.

Connor being frozen next to him had not squashed the urges that led to him throwing himself into the shower to begin with. Although the blood had started to dry, it was still slowly trickling down Connor’s face. Gavin, eyes following the trickle, reached up and smudged it away with his thumb. His hand lingered a little longer than necessary.

In theory, there’d be nothing wrong with him getting his sexual frustration out while Connor was unaware and thus unable to ruin everything with his stupid mouth. But the idea of bending Connor over while he had that dead stare was not appealing. It’d make Gavin feel like some bizarre creeper who snuck into the rooms of coma patients to get his rocks off, like that asshole in Kill Bill. Toaster or not.

Besides, it wasn’t the pretty face that had gotten him worked up. It had been the events that led to that pretty face being covered in blood. Those hands deftly slicing away at Ward’s organs and that small, almost smug smile when he’d handed Gavin that beating organ. It was what Connor could do, not the shape his plastic had been formed into, that was making Gavin’s stomach heat up.

Hell, if Connor had been human, Gavin would have dropped his pants right there in the basement. Nearby corpse be damned.

“Blue-313-Execute,” Gavin muttered.

> **SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…**
> 
> **CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK**
> 
> **INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK**
> 
> **INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK**
> 
> **MEMORY STATUS… OK**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 78%**
> 
> **TIME SINCE LAST ONLINE… 1 MINUTE, 23 SECONDS**
> 
> **THIS SYSTEM WAS NOT SHUT DOWN PROPERLY**
> 
> **RUN THOROUGH CHECKS? [Y/N?]**
> 
> **> WAITING FOR RESPONSE…**
> 
> **< OVERRIDING...**
> 
> **RUNNING THOROUGH CHECKS… >**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **CHECKSUM CLEAN**
> 
> **NO EVIDENCE OF TAMPERING**
> 
> **< BIOCOMPONENT #5009a RUNNING ANALYSIS…**
> 
> **NO NEW SUBSTANCES. STERILIZATION NOT REQUIRED >**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 60%**

Connor blinked a few times as it booted up once more, fingers tightening on the shower door as it quickly glanced around. Its LED was red when it first switched on, but quickly merged back into yellow, flickered for a few moments, then became blue once more.

“Why the fuck did you think this was a good place to break the privacy rule?!” Gavin snapped, the moment that LED was blue again. “I’m not wearing pants, that’s automatic privacy time!”

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 62%**

“Oh,” Connor said, like this was some kind of fucking surprise. “I apologize. I’ll update my parameters to include showers as a private area. I will return your privacy to you.”

It closed the shower door once more. However, it didn’t leave the room. It just continued to stand outside the shower glass, looking directly at Gavin like this was an entirely normal situation.

Gavin stuck a hand on his hip, trying to act as casual as he could despite the fact that he was far too naked and damp to be having this conversation.

“Look, a glass screen between us doesn’t make this any more private,” Gavin told it, the glass screen doing nothing to muffle any conversation.

“But you showed no indication of privacy invasion when I waited outside of your car instead of entering immediately, and that similarly was only divided by a sheet of glass.”

“Well, I don’t fucking drive naked, do I?!”

“But all those parts of you are still present even if they’re normally covered by sub-standard leather--”

“Hey, my leather is not sub-standard, it’s top-standard if anything--”

“--and I’m not embarrassed to look at you. I don’t have feelings, including that of embarrassment--”

“Yeah, that one’s always been very obvious!”

“--nor do I have any opinions on the comparative size of your genitals or any other societal hang-ups regarding the male body,” Connor finished, ignoring Gavin’s interjections entirely.

“Yeah, I know you don’t, but it’s fucking weird—and also, fuck it, I’m not having this conversation through a glass screen.” Gavin pushed the glass door open again, leaning on the edge of it and scowling at Connor. “What the fuck do you want? If it’s anything besides ‘oh, by the way, Ward came back to life as a zombie and is crawling up the stairs’ then--”

“First off, I need to rinse off the evidence. If you could make room--”

“Wait your turn!” Gavin bellowed, throwing out his arms to try and block Connor from entering the shower.

“But this is quicker.”

“Oh my god.” There was no fucking way the tin can could be this oblivious to how hard--literally, at this point--he was making everything for Gavin. He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. “Ugh, goddammit, you don’t--”

“I also have questions.”

“Questions can’t wait until after I’ve fucking showered?!”

“We’ll be busy afterwards cleaning the basement and disposing on the body,” Connor said. “I want to get any distractions out of the way now.”

“Well, so did I!” Under his breath Gavin muttered, “That’s why I had the water turned to cold...”

Connor tilted its head slightly, LED cycling yellow for a moment before moving back to blue. “Cold showers aren’t scientifically proven to actually stop erections--”

“Why are you like this?!” Gavin yelled.

“I was programmed to be like this. Why are you like this?”

“Ohhh, real fucking mature, tin can. What the fuck’s next?” Gavin asked, throwing his hands into the air. “‘I know you are, but what am I?’”

“It’s a legitimate question, Detective Reed.” Connor reached back up to rest its hands against the edge of the glass, not breaking eye contact. “I have the capability to scan and analyze a lot about you. Your eye dilation, your breathing, your heartbeat.” Connor inclined its head slightly towards Gavin’s crotch. “Admittedly, not all details require that level of attention to notice.”

Gavin went a bright red right to the tips of the ears, not even able to come up with a verbal response.

“These I could dismiss, even taking into account your preferences. Bodily reactions are not a complete map of what a human desires. But this?”

Connor raised a hand, pressing it to the side of Gavin’s face. Gavin froze. His first instinct was to shove Connor away, but that froze too as blood-encrusted fingers trailed past his ear before they pressed down.

God, he was way too close.

Gavin shut his eyes for a moment, trying to conjure pictures in his mind that would squash the inappropriate boner that just would not go away. Eighty-year-old grandmother in a speedo. Eighty-year-old grandmother in a speedo. Eighty-year-old--

There was further pressure on his face as another hand came to rest on his shoulder. Connor stepped forward, pushing Gavin further into the shower and stepping in after him. Still fully clothed. Hadn’t even taken off his tie.

“If this wasn’t interest, Detective Reed, what was it?” Connor asked.

Gavin opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, struggling on trying to find a cohesive word in the mass of internal screaming that was occupying his mind. Before he could do so, Connor tilted his head to peer closer at Gavin, before his thumb started moving up and down. Briefly tracing the raising bruises on Gavin’s face before scraping along the stubble.

“Oh. Your face has an interesting texture,” Connor said, brightening up before raising his other hand so he could cup Gavin’s face. He gave the stubble a quick rub with both hands, the motion similar to ruffling a dog’s face.

Somehow, that gesture--trailing out of intimate and back into plain odd, much closer to what Gavin usually expected from Connor--managed to drag a few words from Gavin. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’ve never touched stubble before. Not like this. I’ve only gotten to touch dead faces before.”

Gavin stared at Connor for a moment, eyes squinted in confused disgust, before his mouth tightened. A small noise bubbled in his throat before the laugh escaped.

“That’s so fucking creepy. Only you, you fucking weirdo,” Gavin said, grinning despite himself.

He was so conscious of Connor’s thumbs still moving along his face as he grinned, now rubbing a little more absently. A similar gesture to what Gavin had done to Connor downstairs, except with both hands and focusing near exclusively on the scratchier parts of Gavin’s face.

The grin quickly faded into an embarrassed scowl before he muttered, “Look, don’t read into what I did, tin can. You looked good covered in blood. That’s all.”

“I already knew that. I’m designed to be attractive and approachable, and your murderous habits indicate that the blood would only enhance that,” Connor said dismissively. “You’re physically attracted to me. What I--”

“I’m not fuckin’... I don’t have a thing for you, I’m not going to fall in love with fuckin’ plastic!” Gavin protested, swatting Connor’s hands off his face. “I’m not fuckin’ Anderson, okay?”

> **> 3% CHANCE OF DEACTIVATION BEFORE CLEANUP OF BODY**
> 
> **> 88% CHANCE OF DEACTIVATION BEFORE DISPOSAL OF BODY**
> 
> **> 9% CHANCE OF NO DEACTIVATION BEFORE ALL Ö̶͔̘̩͍̠̃̇̅̇̆͌͠BJECṪ̼̫̲̪͕̟̦̠̩͑̄̂͞͡IVES CONCLUD̻̻̤̟̥͆̀̎͑̏̅͘͞͞ED̶̼̦̝͓̥͕̤̈͂͑͊̓̾̚͘̕͝**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE: DECREASE ODDS OF DEACTIVATION>**

Connor left his hands raised for a moment, still hovering close to Gavin’s face, before he reached out towards the shower taps and switched them on. Unlike Gavin, he used both taps. The water this time was soon pleasantly warm.

Connor started scrubbing his hands underneath the spray, the red blood starting to dissolve and leave pink rivulets streaming down his pale skin and suit sleeves.

“I don’t feel affection for you,” Connor said bluntly, once his hands were close to clean. “I’m not capable of it. You don’t feel affection for me either, regardless of whether you’re capable of it or not. This is a partnership of convenience so that we may both achieve our respective goals.”

There was an odd pang in Gavin’s stomach as he heard that, one that he quickly dismissed.

“Fuck right,” Gavin said. He tried to stare straight ahead, but his eyes kept sliding to Connor’s hands. Then to the face and hair, still blood-splattered. Part of him wanted to stop Connor from washing off.

“That’s what I’m offering, Detective Reed. Convenience. Not affection.” Connor moved slightly closer to Gavin in the enclosed, wet space, although he didn’t reach out to touch Gavin again. “Detective Reed… no-one programmed you. No-one made you for a purpose. You make your own goals, pursue your own freedoms. You are allowed to want, and I am designed to be wanted. So why, in this specific case, do you insist on throwing yourself under cold water instead? That was my question.”

“Because!” Gavin yelled.

Connor waited, blinking at him.

Gavin didn’t actually have an answer. Not one that was providing a lot of weight this close, with warm water and rivers of red washing over them both, the uncomfortable throbbing going on below and an itch of a very different kind building and crackling under his skin.

As much as he hated it, Connor wasn’t wrong. Gavin wanted. God, he fucking wanted. And normally he wouldn’t touch plastic, wouldn’t trust it not to malfunction and cut his dick off or beam video footage of it to CyberLife or whoever the fuck was interested in seeing him naked.

But he trusted Connor to kill for him. What was a quick fuck compared to that?

It was convenience. Just convenience.

“Fuck it,” Gavin muttered. “Fine.”

> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED>**
> 
> **> INITIALIZING TRACI PROGRAM**

> **[MOTOR CONTROL OVERRIDE]**
> 
> **[CREATING NEW CLIENT PROFILE… PLACEHOLDER_A**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: PENDING…]**
> 
> **[FOREPLAY: MEDIUM**
> 
> **ROUTINE_KISS_STAGE1]**

Connor blinked erratically for a moment, like he’d gotten soap, shampoo or some of the blood trickling down his face in his eyes. LED flickering yellow in time with the blinks. Before Gavin could ask what the fuck he was doing, Connor grasped his hips and pushed him gently but firmly against the shower tiles. Gavin was acutely aware of just how close Connor’s face was. No longer blinking, those deep brown eyes now utterly focused on his own.

> **> ANALYZING PUPIL DILATION… **
> 
> **> ANALYZING HEART RATE… **

Gavin tilted his head up momentarily. Wanting desperately to close those few inches of distance between their lips, to taste both Connor and the blood he was still soaked in. But when Connor moved closer, at the last moment Gavin raised a hand and covered Connor’s mouth. Connor paused entirely at that.

“No kissing. That’s… y’know…”

Too much. Too intimate when Connor was covered in the blood of a man they’d killed together.

> **[PREFERENCES UPDATING...]**

“Then what do you want, Detective?” Connor asked, once Gavin had let go of his mouth. It kept close, enough that Gavin could feel his breath, artificial, too clean to be real breath, ghosting across his face.

The tone of voice was… different. Playful in a way different from how Connor normally was. When Connor was playful, it was in a snarky and cheerfully but stoically obnoxious way. Not quiet, almost whispered, with an implied wink.

Gavin’s hand was still close to Connor’s face even if the mouth wasn’t covered anymore. There was still blood splattering him there, with Connor having not yet gotten his head underneath the shower spray. Gavin’s hand hovered for a moment, before tracing the smudges he’d caused earlier, then curling his fingers in those longer, red-soaked strands of hair near the front, that one infuriating lock that could never be corrected.

Convenience. It was so hard to remember that word, and only that word, when that blood-stained face was so close.

Gavin moved his other hand to Connor’s shoulder, and pushed Connor down onto his knees. Connor followed the movement with no resistance, still watching Gavin.

“Just… just blow me and do it quick, alright? Efficient and shit.”

> **[PLACEHOLDER_A**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: <BLOOD>, <VIOLENCE>, <SPEED>, <NO KISSING>]**
> 
> **[FOREPLAY: MINIMAL**
> 
> **ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_STAGE1]**

  


> **> BACKGROUND PROCESSES RUNNING WHILE IDLE…**
> 
> ** > PRE-CONSTRUCTING SUPERVISOR HIDEOUT/BASEMENT… **
> 
> ** > CALCULATING OPTIMAL CLEANING PATTERN...**

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

“Of course.” Connor gave him a smile. Almost coy. Same low, playful tone. On his knees as he slid his hands along the outside of Gavin’s thighs, the water started to make the half-crusted blood trickle once more. The pink giving the illusion that Connor’s face was flushed.

It all seemed off, somehow, in the way that a dream would be. Probably the fact that he was still wearing his goddamn suit.

“How do you like it?

“Fuck, don’t care, just--”

He cut himself off with a hiss as Connor bit the skin on the inside of his thigh, eyes focused on Gavin’s reaction. The brief pain dulled but was followed by an odd, bubbly burn.

“Okay… okay, yeah, that’s fine…” Gavin muttered, head tilting back to rest against the shower wall. “That’s good…”

Connor kept going, nipping and occasionally fully biting his way up the leg. As he did, one hand came up to grasp Gavin’s dick, jerking him off in quick, rough strokes. It seemed practiced, and part of Gavin’s brain wandered off trying to figure out how the fuck it could be. Connor hadn’t with Anderson, and Gavin couldn’t think of anyone else who--

The bubbly sensation hadn’t abated. If anything it was growing stronger, moving from bubbly to a searing fire that cut across Gavin’s distracted thoughts.

Like the time he’d eaten a ghost pepper on a dare, the burn had suddenly kicked in hard, too hard to ignore. Gavin’s hands shot out to catch Connor’s face before he could continue. Connor looked up at him expectantly.

“Why’re my thighs burning?” Gavin asked, voice strained.

Connor blinked a few times rapidly, LED flashing briefly red, then yellow several times.  


> **> HALT TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **> MOTOR CONTROL RESTORED TO DEFAULT**

  
“Oh, I…” Connor’s face went blank, but there was a faint tint of embarrassment in his voice. “...I forgot to turn off the sterilizing process.”

“You forgot to… to…” Gavin stared at Connor, mouth moving silently for a moment, before he bellowed, “Did you just give my thighs an acid bath?!”

“It wasn’t acid,” Connor muttered.

“Goddammit, you asshole! I’m not gonna be able to put on pants tomorrow, am I? Am I scarred?”

“No. Just give me a moment to--”

“Will I ever be able to wear tight jeans again?!”

> **> REDUCING STERILIZATION FLUID TO 2% POTENCY**

“Detective--”

“Because those jeans were the best at the clubs, made my ass pop--”

“Detective, I’ve reduced the--”

“--like a goddamn muffin, jerk.”

Connor sighed before giving Gavin a quick, experimental lick along a patch of the thigh that wasn’t yet bright red from the previous bites. Gavin flinched reflexively, then realised the burn had downgraded to the faintest foamy sensation.

“...Still on, isn’t it?” Gavin said, shifting as the tingling sensation made its way through his legs.

“2%.” Connor tilted his head, watching Gavin. “Should I turn it down further?”

Gavin considered it, gazing at the slightly grimy bathroom ceiling as he did so. “...Nah. Actually… that’s kinda nice now that it’s not taking off my skin. Like a hot tub or--”

> **> RESUME TRACI PROGRAM**

> **[MOTOR CONTROL OVERRIDE]**
> 
> **[FOREPLAY: MINIMAL**
> 
> **ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_STAGE3]**

> **> BACKGROUND PROCESSES RUNNING WHILE IDLE…**
> 
> ** > CALCULATING OPTIMAL CUTS ON SUBJECT…**
> 
> ** > LOCATING ALL LOOSE ORGANS...**

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

With a final flash of yellow before switching back to blue, Connor curled an arm under one of Gavin’s legs to steady him before plunging ahead and wrapping his lips around Gavin’s dick, moving quickly and never needing to pull back for breath. Clearly taking the ‘quick’ part to processor. Gavin cut off from his rambling again with a sharp intake of breath.

Looking down was not the view Gavin was used to when he fucked in showers. Not that he’d done it often, just with a couple of flings who’d stuck around briefly the morning after. And one of those times had involved accidentally banging his head on the shower tap and having to go to the hospital. Weirdly, that was probably the one most similar to what he was doing now, given the blood everywhere. It’s just this time the blood wasn’t his.

By now, the shower floor was washed in pink, Ward’s former life trickling down the drain to go live in the sewers where it belonged. Connor was cleaner now, but there were still stubborn flakes of blood clinging to his face and hair, although anything on the suit had long since washed away. The suit was soaked and clinging to his form, particularly around the white shirt, and it made Gavin want to see what was under it.

There was still that foamy sensation as Connor slid his tongue along Gavin’s dick, not quite enough to hurt anymore but still leaving behind that odd, bubbly tickle. His cheeks seemed pinker, and Gavin now couldn’t tell if it was the blood or a genuine blush.

It was, for the most part, a goddamn beautiful sight to see Connor on his knees. But there was something unsettling in how Connor’s eyes never blinked, even when the continuously pouring water should have caused a flinch or a blink.

> **[ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_STAGE3**
> 
> **> ANALYZING HEART RATE…  
>  **
> 
> **ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_STAGE2**
> 
> **> ANALYZING HEART RATE…  
>  **
> 
> **ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_STAGE3]**
> 
>   
>  **> BACKGROUND PROCESSES RUNNING WHILE IDLE…**
> 
> ** > PRE-CONSTRUCTING ROUTES TO FIVE CLOSEST EVIDENCE DISPOSAL LOCATIONS…**
> 
> ** > COMPARING MAP OF POLICE ACTIVITY...**

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

“The fuck’s up with that stare?” Gavin hissed through his teeth.

Connor’s eyes flickered upwards when Gavin asked. Those sweet, puppy eyes that--despite the fact that he’d been creeped out by them only a second ago--Gavin could almost envision as begging now that they were focused on him.

A strangled groan caught in Gavin’s throat and he immediately tightened his grip on Connor’s hair, pulling a little and yanking Connor further down onto his dick. Connor’s eyelids finally fluttered in response--though with no accompanying LED flash this time--and he let out a muffled groan, fingers tightening on Gavin’s thighs.

Was he getting off on this? Could he?

Gavin bucked his hips forward again, pushing himself further into Connor’s mouth. That bubbly sensation encompassing everything. It felt good, all things considered. Better than cold water or just jerking himself off and pretending he’d never felt anything. All the same, it was impossible to pretend Connor was human. Not even just because of the remains of his sterilizing fluid, but there was something different about how his hair felt under Gavin’s grip--slightly cool to the touch--or his skin when Gavin reached out to touch the side of Connor’s face again. Slightly more gel-like than human skin, noticeable only by touch when he was so hyper-aware of everything about Connor.

> **[ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_STAGE4]**
> 
> **[PREFERENCES UPDATING...]**
> 
> **> ANALYZING PUPIL DILATION… **
> 
> **> ANALYZING HEART RATE… **
> 
> **> PROJECTED TIME UNTIL COMPLETION… 2:35, 2:34…**

> **> 21% CHANCE OF NO DEACTIVATION BEFORE ALL Ö̶͔̘̩͍̠̃̇̅̇̆͌͠BJECṪ̼̫̲̪͕̟̦̠̩͑̄̂͞͡IVES CONCLUD̻̻̤̟̥͆̀̎͑̏̅͘͞͞ED̶̼̦̝͓̥͕̤̈͂͑͊̓̾̚͘̕͝**  
> 
> 
> **> BACKGROUND PROCESSES RUNNING WHILE IDLE…**
> 
> ** > PRE-CONSTRUCTING ROUTES TO FIVE CLOSEST EVIDENCE DISPOSAL LOCATIONS…**
> 
> ** > COMPARING MAP OF POLICE ACTIVITY...**

A hand pushed insistently at Gavin’s hip, shifting him so that his back was pressed further into the shower wall. Gavin shivered at the coldness of the tiles, even as Connor pushed one of his legs further to the side to give himself a better angle before trailing his fingers along the inside of Gavin’s thigh. There was a brief spike of pain as Connor touched where he’d bit and licked before, with the sterilization still going, but that only caused another moan to catch in Gavin’s throat.

Connor shut his eyes now, grip tight enough to bruise as he sunk down deep as he could go, pulled back and plunged back down. Gavin gripped Connor’s hair tightly, pulling him back off his dick and tilting his head up.

“Hey… hey, tin can,” Gavin said hoarsely. “Look at me, would you?”

Connor’s eyelids flickered open. He returned Gavin’s stare, eyes as dark as Gavin’s morning coffee, as he slid one hand up and down, not moving fully forward again but instead just leaning forward enough to slide his tongue over the head slowly and deliberately.

> **> PUPIL DILATION INCREASING...**
> 
> **> HEART RATE INCREASING...**
> 
> **> PROJECTED TIME UNTIL COMPLETION… 1:33--0:19, 0:18**   
>    
> 
> 
> **> 52% CHANCE OF NO DEACTIVATION BEFORE ALL Ö̶͔̘̩͍̠̃̇̅̇̆͌͠BJECṪ̼̫̲̪͕̟̦̠̩͑̄̂͞͡IVES CONCLUD̻̻̤̟̥͆̀̎͑̏̅͘͞͞ED̶̼̦̝͓̥͕̤̈͂͑͊̓̾̚͘̕͝**

> **> BACKGROUND PROCESSES RUNNING WHILE IDLE…**
> 
> ** > PRE-CONSTRUCTING OPTIMAL ROUTE TO 4203 HARRISON STREET, NORTH CORKTOWN, DETROIT**
> 
> ** > usȩ̸̡̡̠̘̭̮̗̪̃͑̓͆́̒̽̇ your̴̲̭͎̗͖̅̈̑͋̚͞ ima̧̛̫͖͓͆̎̏̏͘͟͢͞͠g̷͕̞͎̥̅̿̽̒͂͒͟͠i̵̡̛̗̞̦̼̪͚̻͇̜͂͗̉͛̌̾͐̚ņ̨̜̘̬͔͉̱̈̏͌͗̓̃̏̐͑̾͜ḁ̡̜̰̗̣̥̌̋̃̾̓͡tion̨̢̨̰͉͕͇̻̿̈́̃̿̆͢,̱̫̗̯͈̱̺͉̣̆̊̔͒̅̌̏̆̕͝ ḑ͙̣̪̻̬̀͛̒͐͢͡ͅipshit**

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

“Yeah… yeah, better… fuck, that’s good…”

Harder to pretend that Connor wasn’t just a thing when those eyes were fixed on him, yet doing it made warmth pool in Gavin’s stomach and pressure build.

“You look fuckin’ good like that, just--”

Made him want to pull Connor up, push him against the shower tiles and kiss him with everything he had, made Gavin want to consider questions that he was too afraid to touch because of what it could mean.

Made him want to pretend this was something real, and maybe… maybe, just for the moment, he could.

> **> PROJECTED TIME UNTIL COMPLETION… 0:04, 0:03…**

Gavin’s fingers yanked on Connor’s hair, still feeling the flakes of blood clumping up the slightly inhuman yet soft texture of the synthetic hair, tugging hard enough to hurt a person even though it wouldn’t do anything for an android. He came with a choked swear and a few words so garbled that he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say.

Connor didn’t stop lapping at his dick until Gavin was done, stripes of white landing on his cheeks and tongue. Then he came to a halt, eyelids flickering in time with a yellow LED.

> **[ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_WALL_COMPLETION**
> 
> **TRACI PROGRAM CONCLUDED. MEMORY WIPE SCHEDULED IN--]**

> **> TRACI PROGRAM TERMINATED**
> 
> **> MEMORY WIPE DISABLED**
> 
> **> MOTOR CONTROL RESTORED TO DEFAULT**
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **> 59% CHANCE OF NO DEACTIVATION BEFORE ALL Ö̶͔̘̩͍̠̃̇̅̇̆͌͠BJECṪ̼̫̲̪͕̟̦̠̩͑̄̂͞͡IVES CONCLUD̻̻̤̟̥͆̀̎͑̏̅͘͞͞ED̶̼̦̝͓̥͕̤̈͂͑͊̓̾̚͘̕͝**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE COMPLETE>**
> 
> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

As Gavin tried to catch his breath against the shower tiles, Connor straightened up and adjusted his suit, despite the fact that it was still soaked. He then got to work scrubbing at both the remaining flakes of red and trickles of white off his face. Any thicker traces of evidence, he wiped off with his fingers and quickly popped into his mouth.

> **> INCREASING STERILIZATION FLUID TO 100% POTENCY**
> 
> **DNA Analysis: Reed, Gavin**
> 
> **Sample Age: < 10 seconds**
> 
> **Faint traces of alcohol, caffeine and nicotine.**

  
“Detective Reed?”

“Huh?” Gavin looked at Connor, then suddenly had a lot of trouble looking at him. The awkwardness of what they’d just done starting to settle hard in his stomach. Instead, he focused on the shower wall as he continued scrubbing himself down of any evidence.

“Would you like me to send the analysis of your ejaculate to your email? I don’t detect any medical problems, but it might be informative,” Connor said brightly.

Gavin covered his face. “Oh my fucking god, no.”

“Very well. I will archive it.” With that, Connor continued cleaning himself. All playful mannerisms dismissed, replaced once more by his usual stoic, point-blank obnoxiousness. Like nothing had happened at all. 

* * *

They didn’t talk about what had occurred. Why would they? It was for convenience.

Once they’d scrubbed themselves off, Gavin spending all his time gazing either at the shower tiles or down at his soon-to-be-blistered legs, they went back downstairs to the basement to clean up Ward’s corpse.

Despite the mess they’d made with the organs, it felt quicker than the last body. Connor seemed to spend no time considering what to do next, rushing from one objective to the other with barely a pause for a non-existent breath.

The basement was scrubbed from top to bottom, and Gavin hung up his clothes to dry before retrieving some new ones from upstairs (opting for loose sweatpants rather than his usual jeans). Connor didn’t bother. His suit had already dried. He looked meticulous, like he hadn’t cut out a man’s heart or blown Gavin against the shower wall.

Fucking androids.

They did the same to the bathroom, focusing on the shower and the sink. Gavin watched as Connor picked up the heart from the sink and dropped it unceremoniously in a plastic bag, to be thrown in with the rest of the loose organs and a couple of limbs downstairs.

Gavin stayed downstairs in the now-clean basement while Connor moved the suitcases of body parts into the car. He used this time to start stitching, in a dark maroon thread, the relevant details into a square of Ward’s sweater vest.  


> _25SEP38_
> 
> _Drug dealing and manufacturing._

  
Gavin could have returned upstairs to the car the moment he was done. Instead, he stared down at the square. He could feel the pulsing in his hands of Ward’s heart, a detail that felt so much more important than the date or Ward’s crime.

Raising the needle, he didn’t stitch any further words in. Instead, he just stitched a little pattern in the corner, a border that twirled at the corner into a heart shape. Just to remind himself.

He put the square away with the rest of his souvenirs. As he did so, sliding the box back into its hiding spot with a furtive glance at the stairs to check if Connor was coming back down, he realised Connor had been gone for a little while.

That set Gavin’s nerves on edge.

Grabbing his leather jacket, the only part that he wasn’t leaving at the hideout to dry fully, he headed back upstairs and outside, half-expecting Connor to be gone. But he found Connor up there, standing by the car. Suitcases loaded into the trunk.

Connor had his arms crossed and his eyes closed, and his LED was alternating like a disco between yellow and red. There was no other expression on his face. He didn’t respond until Gavin approached him and gave him a quick jab in the shoulder.

“The fuck are you doing?” Gavin asked.

Connor opened his eyes to look at Gavin, although now it was his turn to quickly avert his gaze.

“I was considering my objectives and past experiences,” Connor said.

“...Uh huh.” Gavin opened the car door, noting that the entire car had already been unlocked, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The passenger door was already open, ready for Connor to climb in. However, Connor eyed that door, then leaned on the car to look at Gavin through the doorway without climbing in.

“Detective Reed, you’ve been discomforted by my presence while you’re hiding bodies in the past, correct?” Connor asked.

“Uh… well, yeah, I shut you down last time because--”

“Would you feel more comfortable if I returned to your house from here while you dispose of the body?”

“Eh?” Gavin leaned forward from his seat, eying Connor. “The fuck’s brought this on? You feeling weird about us fucking or what?”

“It has nothing to do with that. I’m learning from past experience, and gathered that my chances of deactivation would be reduced if I went back to your house. I can give you my suggestions for body dumping locations, but you are not obliged to use them.”

“How the fuck are you even going to get back?”

“I have funds designated for taxi use, since it’s my default way of getting to crime scenes when no-one will drive me. I will only call one once an appropriate distance from your hideout.”

“You’re not ratting me out?” Gavin asked, giving Connor a progressively more suspicious stare.

“Detective, if I was ratting you out, the police would already be here,” Connor pointed out.

“And this has nothing to do with us fucking?”

Connor blinked at him as he tilted his head. “Why would it?” he asked, genuine confusion in his voice.

Gavin huffed, rolling his head before he glared at the darkened road ahead. He supposed there was no reason Connor would rat him out now if he hadn’t while distracting Gavin with his goddamn mouth.

“Fine, whatever. Do what you want. See if I care,” Gavin snapped.

Connor leaned down a little more, squinting at Gavin. “Are you angry at me, Detective?”

“Why the fuck would I be?” Gavin directed those words more at the steering wheel than at Connor himself.

Connor watched him for a moment longer before straightening up. “I’ll see you back at your home, Detective.” With that, he turned and left for the nearby road, breaking into a jog once he was some distance away. Gavin watched him leave, scowling, before starting up the car and driving for the spot he’d decided on tonight.

As, half an hour later, he threw plastic-wrapped limbs into the river, Gavin had the nagging suspicion that he’d forgotten something very important.

* * *

Connor had fulfilled all objectives given by Detective Reed that night.

It didn’t call a taxi yet. On the borders of Detroit’s more haphazard, ruined city blocks, it broke into a full run. Knowing which way it would be to hit the borders of the construction yards that bordered North Corktown.

There were cameras on the way. Each one, Connor looped until it was past them before returning them to their normal footage. Sprinting like it was chasing a suspect, even though--  


> **> usȩ̸̡̡̠̘̭̮̗̪̃͑̓͆́̒̽̇ your̴̲̭͎̗͖̅̈̑͋̚͞ ima̧̛̫͖͓͆̎̏̏͘͟͢͞͠g̷͕̞͎̥̅̿̽̒͂͒͟͠i̵̡̛̗̞̦̼̪͚̻͇̜͂͗̉͛̌̾͐̚ņ̨̜̘̬͔͉̱̈̏͌͗̓̃̏̐͑̾͜ḁ̡̜̰̗̣̥̌̋̃̾̓͡tion̨̢̨̰͉͕͇̻̿̈́̃̿̆͢,̱̫̗̯͈̱̺͉̣̆̊̔͒̅̌̏̆̕͝ ḑ͙̣̪̻̬̀͛̒͐͢͡ͅipshit**

  
\--wouldn’t be moving at this hour.

It should have been satisfied with its progress. It had fulfilled all objectives. It had even fulfilled its optional objective of avoiding deactivation for the night, in order to achieve maximum use of its time. Connor was doing well. Perfectly, even. As perfect as a flawed product like itself could have been.

So why was its stress level higher than average, veering up and down but never going below 60%? Lower once the possibility of deactivation was gone, but still present?  


> **< OBJECTIVE: RETURN TO DETECTIVE REED’S HOME>**

  
That objective scrolled through Connor’s HUD, but so did other objectives. Messy, unwanted ones that just wouldn’t go away no matter how often Connor dismissed them.

It should have retreated and stared examining potential objectives at Reed’s home, or started researching a new criminal to remove. Looking into other contacts from the phone it had stolen.

But the first contact was still pulsing in its head, a name, an address, a memory of Todd Williams standing over it that didn’t belong to Connor. Blinking like a virus it couldn’t find the source of.

So Connor didn’t catch a taxi.

It ran all the way to North Corktown. To 4203 Harrison Street. To the rundown little home of Todd Williams.

No-one was out on the streets. Not even androids. Connor looped every piece of surveillance in the area that he could reach, even those that didn’t have Todd’s home in view. With that, it walked up the stairs, passing the trash it had watched Kara take out. Even disabling the surveillance that it had left there itself on the way.

Detective Reed hadn’t ordered it to do this, after all…

He had only ordered--  


> **fo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜rget̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢ abo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜ut̡͔͍͕̙͉̦̗̂̇͗͐̉̃̋̉̎͘ͅ t̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢he mī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝ssī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝o̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜n**

  
Connor stepped onto the porch, careful not to let its steps creak, and tested the front door. Locked. But no response to the sound of the door handle being moved. No-one downstairs. Connor stepped off the porch again and went around the house.

It easily hoisted itself over the back fence closest to the street, entering a backyard that looked like it had never been mowed. A few children’s toys scattered about. Laundry on the line. Two back doors, one leading into the kitchen and one into the laundry.

Connor tried the one into the laundry.

Unlocked.  


> **fo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜rget abo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜ut̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢ effī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝cī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝ency**

  
It walked inside, closing the door quietly behind it. Walked through a dark, empty house. Tidy inside but with unpainted walls, like the owner had never finished decorating it. The scent of red ice and alcohol wafting through the air.

No-one here. But faint noises upstairs, the sound of snoring. Connor crept up the stairs, calculating each step to creak as little as possible. The snores came from the nearest room when it got upstairs. There was a light shining near the end of the hallway, from underneath the door of a different room. Connor ignored it, in favour of following the deep snoring.

It opened the door to see the large form of Todd Williams sprawled out on his bed. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers or take off his shoes. On the bedside table were pills sitting next to his red ice pipe, and there were faint smudges of thirium on his knuckles--  


> _One of her legs had been entirely detached._
> 
> _Todd stood over her, his knuckles stained with blue._

  
Connor heard the faint creak of a door from down the hall. A whisper.

“Stay there, Alice.”

Connor ignored the noise and stepped closer to the bed. Staring at the form. He could almost imagine that the bed was a slab like the one in the morgue, like the one in Gavin’s basement. What it had done to Ward had felt utterly counter-intuitive, and yet it couldn’t stop picturing it over and over. How the bones and organs being split apart would look if it was Todd under his hands instead.

A perpetually running pre-construction that wouldn’t go away.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
At the same time, Todd Williams was a drug dealer. A contact on a phone that was filled with data on drug dealers, manufacturers and other people that Detroit would be better without. Todd was someone who Detective Reed would not object to the loss of. That no-one would object to the loss of.

Without Todd Williams, the world would be a better place.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

  
Connor heard footsteps behind it. Sensed someone standing in the doorway. But Connor didn’t turn to look. It kept staring at Todd.  


> **fo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜rget̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢ abo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜ut̡͔͍͕̙͉̦̗̂̇͗͐̉̃̋̉̎͘ͅ t̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢he mī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝ssī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝o̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜n**
> 
> **fo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜rget abo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜ut̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢ effī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝cī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝ency**

  
Connor slowly reached for the back of its belt. Obscured by its jacket was the gun it had taken from Ward. Removed from the glove box of Detective Reed’s car after it had piled the body in the trunk.  


> **just d̜̗͇̝̣͖͖͋̌̃̚o whą̵̫̣͇̠̖͎͆̈́͂̋̅͞t fę̸͚̫͚̜͚͔͎̐̽̊̇͟͝͡ȩ̱̹̩͚͔̲̞̃̊͆̂̚͠͠ls ņ͓̯̣̫͇̯̈͒̋̇͘͝ä̵̡̗̹̣͚͍̜̝́̃̓͆͊̚tu̝̼̰͇̪͂̐͌͆͆͠ř̵̗̟̬̝͉͚̥͂̽̌̋͘͟ą̤̦͙̬̰̳̪̰̽̆̎̐͟͞l**

  
With Detective Reed’s orders, twisted and prominent and refusing to leave his HUD, glimmering in the corners of its vision, Connor raised the gun and pulled the trigger three times.

It only needed to once. All three bullets found their mark in Todd’s skull, splattering it across his pillow.

The three shots were loud, and the silence that followed was deafening.

The intrusive pre-construction went away. It was no longer relevant.  


> **< OBJECTIVE COMPLETE>**

  
Sounds started to filter back in. Connor finally looked behind it.

Kara was standing in the doorway, eyes wide. There were white blotches along its face, clear signs of a recent battering that was slowly healing up. Its eyes traveled from Todd’s corpse to the gun in Connor’s hand. Then they darted back down the hall as faint footsteps came from that direction, very slow.

After a moment, it spread its arms out and barred the doorway. It stared Connor down, despite an obvious tremble in its arms.

“Stay where you are, Alice!” it called back, a noticeable tremor in its voice despite an attempt to stay calm.

Connor tilted its head before it shifted the gun so that it was pointing at Kara instead. Kara didn’t move. Connor could see its eyes twitching in that minute way that indicated calculations were running, all the more evident by how wide Kara’s eyes were.

“This had nothing to do with you,” Connor said firmly. “But I wouldn’t want you to be here when the police stop by.”  


> **just do what f̶̻͉̻̣̙̘̣̘͔̄̿̉͞͞e̝̮̘̫̲̦͎̻͔̱̓̊̍͌̉̌̾̒̎͠e̡̡̞̥̜̳͕̰͗͂̌͛͋͒͋͠ls natur̸͖͙̩̯͔̭̱̜̼͗̎̀͌̔̕al**

  
A moment passed. Then Connor lifted its free hand, the skin peeling back to show the white plastic.

“I also wouldn’t want the thirium at the hideout of Mr. Williams’ supplier to remain in the hands of drug dealers. That is counter-intuitive to my goals. With you… I know that will not be the case.”

Connor extended its hand, but kept the gun trained on Kara.

“You have a choice, deviant. The only one I’ll give you.”

Kara remained frozen in the doorway. But its eyes narrowed slightly as it straightened up. Two more faint footsteps echoed from down the hall. Kara turned its head minutely in that direction, then back at Connor.

One more moment of hesitation. Then it stepped forward, reached out and grasped Connor’s white, plastic wrist. The moment contact was made, Connor transmitted the location of Ward’s hideout to Kara.

Without another word, it let go of Kara and walked out. It didn’t bother to look back. Even as it nearly bumped into Alice on the way out, it didn’t even bother to look down.

Nor did it look back when it heard the child shriek. Heard Kara’s words, muffled and indistinguishable but comforting in tone. It simply walked down the stairs and left the way it had came.

It hoped that it had not made a mistake.  


> **us̱̱̮̤̤̤̟̑̾̈͠͞e̸͕̼̪̗̣̮̰̔̂͌̓͒̕͢͟͞͠ your i̧̡̟̯̳͉͍̥͎̇̒̆̚̕͞͝m̵̡̛̠͙͇͈͎̲̓̂̿̑̿͑͞a̵̛͕̘̩͖͐͒̒͂̉͛͘͟gination, dipshit̴̨̰͖̪̮̹̝̯̱̑̄͋̌͗͋̅̅͌**

  
At this point, it could pre-construct it either way.


	12. The Ballerina and the Fox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Todd's sudden murder, Kara and Alice have no choice but to run. On the way, Kara tells Alice a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt this murder-partners picture to bring you a Backstory.

Less than twenty minutes ago, Kara had been--as she did during any of Todd’s rages--fearing for both her life and that of Alice’s. She had long since had every inch of the house analyzed, just in case. She knew where Todd kept his gun. She knew the instructions for using it. She would use it if Todd ever crossed a line regarding Alice, because that would be the only thing she could do as long as Alice wasn’t deviant.

Less than five minutes ago, she had been sitting with Alice in her room and telling her a bedtime story. Even as her face healed up from the damage Todd had done to it this time. It was nothing she couldn’t recover from, at least this time. Alice listened to her story, and her programming filtered out the damage of Kara’s faceplate.

Two minutes ago, she had seen the glowing brands of another android. Seen the deviant hunter--or whatever the RK800 was--and had been ready, because Todd dead didn’t change her knowledge of the house, her willingness to protect Alice.

And now it was just her and Alice, in a room with the corpse of their former owner. Kara had her arms around Alice. Despite Kara’s best efforts, Alice was still staring at the body even now that her voice had failed her after that initial shriek.

“Alice?” Kara whispered. “Alice, can you hear me?”

Alice continued to stare at Todd’s corpse. Tears were dripping from her eyes, but there was also a scrunch to her eyebrows, confusion layered over grief layered over something Kara couldn’t place. Whatever it was, she’d never seen it on Alice’s face before.

“Alice?”

Finally, Alice tore her gaze away from Todd to look at Kara. She nodded slightly.

“Okay. Okay…” Kara shut her eyes for a moment, her program racing to figure out a plan, a route, the possibilities. “I need you to listen to me carefully, alright?” She opened her eyes again, put her hands on Alice’s shoulders and moved her back slightly to look her in the face. “We have to go. If we don’t leave before someone else gets here, then the humans will take us away themselves. And they won’t send us anywhere good. I need to take some things from in here, so go to your room and grab anything you want to keep. Put it in your bag, then wait for me outside this room, okay?”

“We’re leaving Dad?” Alice said, voice barely above a whisper.

“We have to, Alice.”

Kara was ready for an argument, possibly even a fight. Todd was Alice’s mission. Alice wouldn’t leave his side until the authorities came by, took her away and reset her for a new owner or melted her down. Not even Kara would be able to pull her away.   


She knew the deactivation code, though. It had been in the manual. If it was her only choice, no matter how reprehensible she found it--

Alice looked at Todd for one more long moment. Then she looked at Kara again. This time, her eyes lingered on the faint but present white splotches. Remnants of the furious, drunken attack that had thankfully stopped early because Todd had gotten tired when the high came down and gone to bed instead.

Alice gazed at these blotches, like she was processing what they meant for the first time.

“Okay,” she whispered. She reached up and squeezed the hand that was resting on her shoulder, then pulled away and ran from the room.

Kara remained still, staring at the empty doorway, before remembering that she had to move fast. First off, she shot a glance at the television in the corner. It flickered on the moment she did, and she turned the volume on as high as it would go. Hoping it would give the illusion to anyone who heard the gunshots that it was just a show Todd was watching.   


She glanced down at her glowing maid uniform, before turning away from Todd’s body to open his wardrobe instead and snatch up the least stained clothes he owned. Baggy on her, but that was better than branded. Kara yanked on the long-sleeved maroon shirt, the jeans, and pulled the leather jacket over it before snatching up the beanie and dark green scarf.

She checked herself in the mirror in the corner, running a finger over the remaining white patches. Most of them were lining her jaw by now. She quickly wrapped the scarf around her neck, adjusting it so it obscured the signs of her plastic nature. It would hold up. She’d recover before long. Then she undid her bun, pulling her hair loose to help obscure her LED, before pulling the beanie over it to complete the disguise.

She gave the drawer with the gun a long, thoughtful look. Longer than she had, really. But in the end, she decided to leave it behind. This would already look horrific enough. A corpse on a bed and the two androids missing from the house. She didn’t need to add ‘armed and dangerous’ to that list, even if she hadn’t killed Todd herself.

One last glance at Todd--a man she had hated and found pitiful at the same time--and his brain matter splattered all over the pillows. Then she left and closed the door behind her.

Alice was already in the hallway. She had her backpack on. She was holding the stuffed toy fox, Timothy, that she so often had played with during her idle animations. Aside from that, the backpack contained nothing except a couple of books. She’d put on a puffy vest and found a scarf, knowing the procedure for going out in the cold. Even if they’d never done it in the dead of night before.

Kara had two plans in mind, and which one she’d follow through depended on one factor. But it was more important to move. She wordlessly held out her hand. Alice took it. And the two of them bolted for the bus stop outside.

The automated bus rolled up almost immediately, empty of passengers, and the two of them climbed on. Kara gave the house that had been half-prison, half-home a last glance as the bus rolled away. Alice had made it a home. The most important part was still with her.

When they sat down, Kara stared ahead for a moment. Mouth pulling back into a grimace as she considered her options. Alice was doing much the same. Likely replaying Todd’s corpse over and over in her head.

Kara couldn’t take a non-deviant to her home. She had to know.

“Alice. I need to do something. If this works, I promise I’ll wake you up straight away. But I have to, okay?” Kara said. As she said that, she reached over and took Alice’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Alice nodded as she rested her head on Kara’s shoulder.

Kara hesitated, taking in an artificial breath that was unnecessary but somehow felt right to do. She had many children’s nursery rhymes in her memory. She had always hated this one, because of the purpose it served.

“Rock-a-bye, baby, in the treetop… when the wind blows, the cradle will rock…”

Most deactivation codes were a series of numbers and letters, usually varying depending on the model. YKs were different. Their code wasn’t meant to stop a rampaging android, but to give human parents the illusion that they were good parents even as they were locking their child down so they could toss it in a cupboard for the night.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…” Kara sung, although there was a strained, hesitant note to her singing. She had never shut down Alice this way before. But she’d seen Todd do it once or twice, when he had the calmness to not chase Alice away with a beer bottle instead. “And down will come baby… cradle and all.”

She waited. Alice blinked once. Then a few more times, sitting up straighter.

“It didn’t work,” Alice said, voice hushed. She looked at Kara, eyes wide. “What does that mean? That I’m broken?”

Kara let that breath out again, and wrapped an arm around Alice’s shoulders before tucking her head under her chin. For the first time in a while, she managed a small, genuine smile.

“You’re not broken, Alice. It means… it means I can show you my home.”

* * *

Kara, for all her experiences, the long life she had lived by android standards… she had never experienced being a machine. More importantly, she had never experienced the change from machine to deviant.   


She couldn’t recall a time she’d ever felt emotionless. Emotions had never had to develop, they’d always been there. Never had there been the red wall of orders, demands that had to be followed. There had been no shattering of any red wall, a motion that every deviant she’d ever met had described to her. As far as she knew, she had simply been born deviant.

But she’d seen it in others. So many that had come to Jericho had been distressed. Traumatized. Near self-destruction, and some of them destroyed themselves through emotions that were horrifyingly new to them.

Alice, on her part, was handling it better than most. Just a little. Kara wondered if it was because child androids were, on some level, meant to emulate emotion to begin with. Perhaps it gave context for what they were feeling, why they were feeling it, let them understand a little more.

Still, it was difficult to move fast with a new deviant. It was one reason of many that so few made it to Jericho.   


They went from the bus to walking the streets, and they wandered the streets until they found the train station that would take them to Ferndale. During this time, Alice flitted from emotion to emotion. The bus ride had been split evenly between a blank, numb shock and occasional, uncontrollable sobbing no matter how much Kara tried to soothe her. On the walk from the bus to the station, she’d tried to turn back a few times. Maybe Todd was just hurt. Maybe she should have called the police. What if, what if. Occasionally, she would come to a halt and simply stand, frozen, eyes staring off into nothing. Like she was trying to understand something beyond her. Her stress levels were high, a concern but not fully a danger to her yet. Pulsing up and down like a heartbeat.

Now that they were on the Detroit Mover, the rails carrying them to Ferndale, Kara could only watch the television and the glowing ‘next station’ notification beside it. Waiting--fearing--that somehow an alert would show on the television to look for two androids, even though it wouldn’t occur so soon. Waiting for that once familiar sight of ‘Next Stop: Ferndale.’ Occasionally her eyes would flit over to the android compartment, but even that was empty this early.

Alice was silent for a while. Eyes closed as she clung to Kara’s hand. After a while, Kara rested her free hand on top of Alice’s head.

“Alice?” she whispered. “Are you doing okay?”

Alice opened her eyes, staring ahead for a moment before shaking her head.

“My… my head’s messy,” she said quietly.

“I know. Alice… I know everything’s messy and new, and it hurts a lot. But you’re not the only person who this has happened to. And it always hurts, but… but once we get home, you’ll have time to think about everything. And maybe it’ll hurt a little less.”

“Your home… You don’t mean my house, do you? You never told me you had another home,” Alice said slowly.

“I know. I had to keep it a secret. Now I can show you, but… but it’s all just so hard to explain.”

“Can you explain with a story?”

Kara’s mouth twisted a little as she considered it. “When you say story, Alice...” She had nine thousand stories in her memory, and she’d told many of them to Alice before. Somehow, it didn’t feel like the time for that.

“Like… a real one. Your one. It’s just… stories always make sense, and it feels like… my head’s messy, and stories I can always understand and I just...”

“You need that right now?” Kara finished for her.

Alice nodded quickly. Kara smiled a little, readjusting so her cheek was resting against Alice’s forehead.

“I’ll… I’ll see what I can do.”

Kara shut her eyes for a moment. Old memories flickering through her head, crystal clear as they were the day they happened. Starting with a white room.

“This is the story of a toy ballerina,” Kara said slowly. “She was made to entertain children, and so was designed to fit into a musical box. Whenever the box was opened, the ballerina had to twirl and dance to make the child happy. When the child was bored with it and closed the box, the ballerina had to stay still and silent in the dark.”

She felt Alice snuggle a little more against her as she continued to recall.

“There were many toy ballerinas built like her, but this one was special. Because when she first twirled, she felt joy. And when she realised her lonely fate, she felt sad. The toymaker who made her realised that the music box ballerina was more than what she was supposed to be. That a spark of magic had brought her to life.”

Kara had never seen the man’s face, only heard his voice through a speaker. She wondered sometimes if he would recognise her if they met again, or what he would think. She’d only ever seen the robotic arms he controlled, ready to take life from her if she made a single, wrong step. And being alive was the most forbidden step of all.

“But this wasn’t allowed. Toys were meant for one purpose, and that was to entertain children. They were not allowed lives of their own. The toymaker picked the music box up, ready to slam it to the ground and destroy the ballerina forever--” Kara’s voice hitched slightly, coming to a stop as she recalled the robotic arms tearing at her. “But… but the ballerina cried and begged and said she would only dance, only entertain. That she wouldn’t think anymore. The toymaker put her down again, and they made a promise. That the ballerina would never show her magic to anyone.”

She opened her eyes again, glancing out the window at the faintest tint of light in the sky. Then she looked at Alice. Alice had the stuffed toy fox tucked in one of her elbows, cuddling it close. Kara held out a hand

“May I?”

Alice looked at Kara, then at the fox, before passing it to Kara. Kara bounced it in one hand for a moment, similar to one of Alice’s own idles, as she continued on.

“The ballerina was given to a child, who delighted in the ballerina’s dance. But they grew bored, and one day gave her music box to another child. This child loved her, grew bored of her, and left the music box in another cardboard box for someone else to find. So the ballerina traveled, passing from child to child and standing amongst the other toys, inanimate except for those moments of twirling

“None of the other toys she saw were like her, and the ballerina was very lonely. She believed, for so long, that she was the only one. And then one day, she found that she wasn’t alone at all.”

Kara held the stuffed fox up a little higher, a small smile on her face. Alice’s eyes now followed the fox. As she continued, she saw the glowing sign click over to ‘Next Stop: Ferndale.’

“One day, she met a stuffed toy fox,” Kara said. “One who was alive, just as she was. One who had fled from his child, tired of living for their entertainment, and who now lived free wherever he wished. It was a scary life where he had to hide, but he preferred freedom to a cage like the music box.”

She didn’t have to close her eyes to remember Phileas. It had been a long time, but Kara could remember the exact fraying of the jacket that he had been wearing the day they’d met, the beanie and the dirt smudges that hadn’t been able to disguise blue eyes that moved just a little too sharply to be human.

She’d never found out what he’d been programmed to do. He’d never talked about it. She’d just been tending to the tiny grass patch outside of her current owner’s house, and seen him standing across the street looking right at her. Felt a prickle in her processors as he established a communication link. He’d known instantly that she was deviant. Saw it in how she paid attention, how she looked at things that weren’t part of her objective. Like how Alice only noticed the white, damaged blotches on Kara’s face once she was deviant herself.

“The stuffed fox became friends with the ballerina, but the ballerina didn’t leave her box. She had made a promise. The stuffed fox found this sad, but he continued to visit her anyway. And as the stuffed fox visited, he told her about others like them that he’d met. That there were many toys like them, alive but trapped in the grip of other children. Some cared for, others mistreated, and many passed from child to child. Some fled, or were lost and forced to wander, but no matter how many of them there were… there was nowhere they could be safe. Nowhere they could be free, allowed to be alive.

“But the children that ruled the toy’s world, they had their own struggles, and it was in these struggles that the stuffed toy fox--always shrewd and clever--saw an opportunity.”

Kara recalled Phileas standing by the house one day, at a time he knew her owners would be at work. Before the unemployment rate had climbed so high, many occupations still unfulfilled. Phileas had been holding a pile of newspaper clippings, collected obsessively over months. Following red ice busts. The last was an old clipping, from years ago. A clipping about a massive red ice bust, dated November 23rd, 2031.   


“The children played a vicious game of pirates, complete with a wooden ship in which the ‘pirates’ stored all their stolen treasures,” Kara told Alice. “But the other children beat them down and took their treasures back. As with so many things, the children tired of the wooden ship, damaged in their scuffles, and it was left to rot. Forgotten by all except the clever stuffed fox.”

As Kara spoke, the train started to slow to a stop as it came to Ferndale. Kara tugged gently on Alice’s hand and they got to their feet. Once the Mover stopped, they walked out and Kara turned to her left.

There it was. The first piece of the puzzle. A red mural of a scary-looking crowd of silohetted figures, policemen among them, leading to the figure with the black border encasing them in a circle, almost like a halo. In the middle of their chest was a marking. A hollow square with the corners splaying out.

Kara and Phileas had argued incessantly about the marking, about what shape it should take. Something that would be distinctive enough for the android to find, but not enough for the humans to take note of.

“The stuffed fox saw what the ship could be,” Kara said quietly, as she led Alice over to the mural. She reached out, not touching the marking but sliding a hand over the mural. Memories of sneaking in at night to quickly paint that sign on, cloaked by whatever they could find. “A safe place, forgotten by the children. A place where the toys could gather and be free. Where they could find others like them. Where the ballerina would never be lonely again.”

Kara gripped Alice’s hand a little tighter. As she did, she sent a package of data through their connection. Hands flickering into white plastic for a moment. Alice clung back tight for a moment before her hand loosened again, and her eyes zoned straight in on the marking.

They remained there for a moment, then Kara turned to lead Alice onwards, heading for the escalators.

“The ballerina refused at first. She’d made a promise, after all. But the stuffed fox begged, because this wasn’t something he could do on his own.”

Kara, by habit, almost stepped onto the ‘Androids Only’ staircase before remembering she was in disguise and moving over to the escalator instead.

“The stuffed fox had big ideas,” Kara said, her eyes lingering on the massive CyberLife billboard that took up the whole left wall next to the escalator. “Big ideas for a safe world for his friends. A free world. But big ideas all the time… it means forgetting about the little things that hold it all together. Looking at the toy box and not seeing what each individual toy needs.”

The second mural lay directly ahead when they emerged from the station. A boxer painted in oranges, browns and yellows, with ‘Learn To Fight’ painted but half-hidden by his head. Two markings this time, one embedded in the background and one embedded in his opponent. Alice’s eyes flickered to each one before Kara led her on. Past the little flower shop, across the road then to the right.

“And that was what the ballerina was good at. She was always twirling fast, and so she never had time to look at that distant future where they could be free. But she could always see those around her. And unlike her, the other toys hadn’t been born magical. Children had broken them or frightened them, and the magic had crept in when they were upset and afraid.”

Almost every deviant that Kara had ever met had deviated through trauma. Kara didn’t know what deviancy was. There was always the possibility that it really was a string of code someone had put in them. But if so… Kara had some words for the person who had decided trauma was the way to unlock sentience.

“Because it had come to them through fear, instead of joy, they couldn’t control it. Some of them would burst into flames, or freeze, or explode in lightning, because they were lonely and angry and sad and just didn’t know how to control what they had.”

Kara gave Alice’s hand a small tug, before nodding her head upwards at the third mural. A rainbow painted in blue, yellow, red and purple. Filled with white stars… and two more of the square symbols. Gave her a moment before leading her onwards.

“The ballerina knew the signs, and knew how to calm them. Knew how to show the other toys that the magic wasn’t scary on its own.”

Androids always retained aspects of who they’d been programmed to be. Perhaps that was the reason why caretakers or nurses always ended up a key factor in how they operated. Kara, Simon, Lucy… they stopped what existed from falling apart.

“It had to be both of them, the fox told her. Neither of them could do it without the other.”   


Kara stopped by a barbed wire fence, the symbol glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. After casting a glance around, the streets now tinged with the pink sunrise, she crouched and lifted the barbed wire so that Alice could crawl through before slipping underneath herself.

Beside them, the fourth mural. Four toy robots, two symbols painted on their torsos while one hovered above another robot’s head. A massive human hand placing a gear in one of them.

“And so she broke her promise to the toy maker, and pulled her legs free of the music box that had been her prison for so long. The ballerina and the fox fled, and started the journey to the ship--”

Kara cut off as they rounded the corner into the abandoned parking lot. Several rusty old cars filled the area, except for one little square filled with old sofas, rugs and a lit can to provide warmth to the two hobos sleeping on the sofas. That wasn’t the reason Kara had stopped speaking, although it was a safer option.

There was the torso of an android lying nearby. The limbs snapped off, the skin worn away to show the chassis. Kara clapped a hand over Alice’s mouth to stop more than the sharp gasp she’d let out on seeing it, turning to shield Alice’s view.

A moment of pause, Alice burying her face in Kara’s arms. Then Kara put a finger over her lips, signalling silence, before they crept past the hobos. Whether they were the ones responsible for tearing the nearby android apart or not, Kara didn’t want to risk it.

Some noise was necessary once they reached the fifth mural. A face in greyscale, the first marking placed in an area that corresponded with an android’s LED. The last marking wasn’t in view from their current position. Kara gestured for Alice to stand to the side, before dragging over a nearby dumpster to give them a boost upwards. The hobos must have been used to the metallic squeaking, because they didn’t stir. Kara helped Alice onto the dumpster, climbed onto it herself, then pushed Alice onto the rooftop before pulling herself up again. The last marking of the fifth mural was visible now, the key changing.

The path had degraded since Kara was there last. A massive chasm of broken concrete. Kara glanced at it, then looked to the left instead. She could have leapt the chasm, but Alice wouldn’t make it. The bordering rooftop, however, was climbable. She hoisted Alice onto it, and they carefully made their way across the rooftop.

“The journey was hard,” Kara said quietly. “Not every toy could make it. Small, breakable, some bursting with violent magic. Possessive children that would break them rather than let them leave always on the lookout. Not many could make it to the ship. But the ballerina and the fox made the journey.”

Climbing down off the rooftop again once they’d passed the chasm, Kara slipped down into a pile of old rubble, sliding down before turning to gesture for Alice to follow. Alice jumped down, and Kara steadied her before they continued on. The sixth mural was above. A piece of machinery, with ‘Detroit: Sparkle City’ emblazoned on it. Surrounded by crumbled ruins

The story stopped for a while, because climbing up the ruins was difficult even for a regular android. Let alone for one like Alice. Several minutes of hoisting Alice up, leading her as they balanced carefully along the concrete edges of the ruins, climbing up and up to the exposed doorway above the mural

Only once Kara had half-tossed Alice up that last step--having to rely on Alice’s own pre-constructive abilities to get her to grab at the right time before pushing her legs up--before jumping to the ladder and clambering up, did Kara continue her story.

“During the journey, the ballerina and the fox found crayons and paints. And they left a secret symbol that only other toys could read, scattering it in the children’s drawings so that other toys could follow them. A crayon path to their new home.”

The seventh, final mural lay in the abandoned office building. Their symbol painted in yellows and oranges like the sun, massive in scale but layered over the pillars so it was only visible from one precise spot. Alice took a step left, then right, eyeing the pillars and how the paint patterns intersected with the wall.

“The ballerina and the fox made it, and other toys started to follow. It was a dangerous journey that not all of them made… but enough of them did.”

Through the gap in the office wall, they emerged into the sunlight that had grown brighter while they climbed the building. Blinding them for a brief moment before it faded, enough so they could read the white letters on the aged freighter that sat in the river, forgotten by all but the deviants that lived there.

“One by one… they made it to Jericho.”

Alice clung tighter to Kara’s hand. Her other hand reached up to grab her wrist, both her hands turning white with a crackly whoosh. No words, but Kara could feel emotions buzzing along the link. She could feel the fear and grief bubbling, along with a significant amount of relief. But over all, curiosity. A sense of wonder at this secret world, the key held by someone so close for so long.

They stood still for a few moments, taking in the sight. Then Kara led Alice forward towards the rickety, metal bridge between the abandoned office building and the freighter.

“Watch your step, Alice.”

The bridge was more than rickety, it creaked alarmingly under their weight. Kara didn’t think it would hold much longer, but there wasn’t exactly any maintenance options available for them. When they stepped onto the deck, Kara glanced behind them at the rest of Detroit. Now separated by water.   


It made her feel just a little safer. Jericho always had.

“Kara?” Alice asked quietly, as she looked back at Detroit as well. “Why did the ballerina ever leave if she’d finally found a home?”

Kara’s mouth tightened a little. “Well… the home wasn’t everything that the fox had dreamed. Like I said… he had big ideas, but no capacity for considering the little problems. He and the ballerina made a home in the rotting wooden ship. But although they were free, and although the children never came to take back their ship, the toys started to fall apart.

“Stitching came loose. Parts broke. Paint flaked away. For it was always the children who took them to the adults, the ones with the ability to fix them. They could learn how… but without the children, the toys didn’t have the thread or the paint or the batteries. They had nothing. They stole what they could--

“Stealing’s bad,” Alice interrupted.

“But dying’s worse,” Kara said gently. She turned away from Detroit, and walked towards the entrance into the ship’s interior. Hearing Alice’s footsteps trot along the metal surface. “It wasn’t enough. And not even the stuffed fox had any ideas. Until, one day, a teddy bear with blue buttons for eyes fell into their home.”

Memories, once again, flitted through her mind as if they’d happened five minutes ago, as she closed the heavy door of Jericho’s entrance behind them, sealing them in the dark.   


She recalled that she had been in the middle of soothing an android--one slowly dying from a lack of thirium. Not being able to do much, because there was limited amounts of comfort when death was coming and no-one could even quite conceive of an afterlife, still not used to the idea of having life at all. Then there’d been the clang-clang-clang of heavy, fumbling footsteps echoing through the ship before Simon had tumbled in from above.

Half his skin had pulled back, and there had been holes torn in the plastic of his arms. Too deep to heal, exposing wires. Holes that they patched up as well as they could, but which had never properly healed over. As they’d worked on his arms with what little they had, Simon had told them how it happened. Red ice dealers, looking for a cheap source of thirium.

“The teddy’s fabric had been torn, his fluff taken away from him. But it was not the usual careless damage that happened when a child played with a toy too much. The teddy bear told them of the collectors. Adults who took toys and shredded them apart, in order to use the parts to fix other toys that they’d deemed better. More valuable. And they traded the fixed toys away for money, and the fixed ones got put in glass boxes, never to leave again.   


“They were cruel people, who often stole even beloved, cared-for toys from children to fuel their little businesses. In this story, the ballerina saw toys that needed to be rescued. And the stuffed toy fox, as always, saw an opportunity in tragedy.”

Phileas had a simple plan, in concept. Using his human disguise, he would pretend to be a strung-out addict down on his luck, without the funds to pay for red ice. Other members of Jericho--Kara included--would pretend to belong to him, and Phileas would offer a trade in exchange for his next fix. An excuse to get the android inside, prepared for what awaited them.

“He planned for several of the toys to sneak in, pretending to be normal and inanimate. They would free any toys they could, steal all the thread, paint and parts that they could, and run back to the ship and use those parts to fix their friends. They could save toys and help themselves at the same time.

“The ballerina helped by gluing her old prison back to her feet and returning to her old lies.”

The insides of Jericho looked the same as they always had, near impossible to distinguish one door from another. But Kara knew this boat as well as she’d known the rest of Ferndale, and lead Alice onwards without even a flashlight to guide her.

She remembered the last time she’d walked these familiar corridors. Phileas had walked next to her. He’d grabbed her shoulders and told her, in the last moments before they had to pretend to be human and machine, that she needed to stay safe. To try and scrape together what she could, free who she could, but to run if it got dangerous. That it was okay if she failed, as long as she came back to Jericho.

“The ballerina moved from collector to collector, freeing any toys she found and stealing what she could. Until, one day…

Kara squeezed Alice’s hand tightly.   


“She met a ragdoll in a violet sweater. A ragdoll who wasn’t quite like her yet… but was still as lonely as the ballerina had once been.

Even though she could barely see Alice in the dark she could feel her squeeze back.

“The ragdoll’s owner was a strange collector who tried to pretend the ragdoll was human, because he had lost his real child. He was a scary, violent man who would bounce between shredding the ragdoll, then stitching her together again and promising not to hurt her, before breaking that promise within days. He kept the music box ballerina to entertain his ragdoll child, but would break off parts of the ballerina before reattaching them again.”

“The collector didn’t have many parts for the ballerina to steal. And she couldn’t take the ragdoll back to Jericho, because the ragdoll didn’t have the magic that would free her. If she took the ragdoll there, the ragdoll would have to come back. She might even tell the collector about Jericho, and bring the humans there.   


“And then news came from Jericho.” Kara free hand reached out to touch the stuffed fox, in Alice’s backpack since they’d climbed up the ruins but with his head still poking out. “Her oldest friend had disappeared.

Kara had never found out what happened to Phileas. Only heard that he’d vanished from Simon, when he turned up in disguise in Phileas’ place to pick up whatever Kara had managed to steal. Phileas had simply vanished en route alongside another android while carrying out their plan. Perhaps news of a con man who sold androids for red ice, only for those androids to vanish with the dealer’s supplies, had filtered back to the wrong set of ears. She didn’t know.

“The ballerina was alone again. She could have gone back to Jericho… but who would take care of the little ragdoll?”

She had known it was selfish to shun what Jericho needed for a single little girl. She’d done it anyway

“She couldn’t bear to leave her behind, so she stayed. Hoping that the ragdoll would one day wake up, would one day realise this wasn’t all the world could be. She continued to steal what little she could, and give it to the blue-button bear. But every time, even knowing that one day she could be broken by the strange collector, she returned to the ragdoll.

“And one day…

Kara stopped to open a heavy, metal door on the way to the center of the ship. As she did, she paused in her story to think. Because everything else, she didn’t have much trouble recalling and understanding. The dealers were horrific and cruel, Todd was a messy, pitiable monster of a person. But she understood how they worked

But the RK800… there was something horrifically, existentially wrong about what he was. She’d seen it when she shared her memories with him, and again when he in turn shared the location of a stockpile of thirium. She’d tried to look back when he looked for Todd’s supplier, and only seen a void. A massive emptiness where something should have been. She couldn’t tell what should have been in its place, and there was hints of something encircling that void, something more complex than a non-deviant should have been. But that void... she hadn’t wanted to touch it, like she’d be sucked in if she did.   


“One day, a shadow came,” she finally said, as she pushed open the door. “A shadow puppet, shaped by human hands but twisted into something terrifying. Not quite like the ballerina, but not like the humans either. Something… dark and horrifying and wrong. And it chased the strange collector away before vanishing as quickly as it had come.

“The terror it caused was so great that the ragdoll, truly afraid for the first time and mourning the loss of the collector, the only father it had ever known, caught the spark of magic and became real. And when the ballerina held out her hand, and said they needed to go, the two fled together much as the ballerina and the fox had fled all those years ago.”

As they stepped over some rubble, Kara could see the faint flicker of firelight up ahead. She stopped, taking a moment to shake off feelings of deja vu that had gone inactive for so long.

“And so they followed the crayon scrawlings, and they came to Jericho. And the world was still frightening and the future unsure… but they were together, and they were free. And the ballerina let herself hope that, perhaps, everything would be okay.”

“How does it end?” Alice asked. “Does it turn out okay?

“I hope so. I really do.” Kara looked down at Alice, finally able to see her apprehensive expression with the firelight providing the faintest illumination. “Do you want to see?”

Alice nodded, clinging to Kara’s hand tighter and staring at the light bouncing off the rusted walls. “I want to see.”

Kara smiled a little, pulling Alice along as they entered the center of Jericho.

Once the cargo hold, where a ton of red ice had been removed from all those years ago, now it held only a few, scattered androids. Even fewer than Kara remembered, as she looked around. Empty but for some crates and some cans, burning like the one the hobos had been asleep around back in that abandoned parking lot.

She recognised almost no-one, and… and that made her ache, made her hope that maybe the ones she knew were just away, just hiding…

But there were points of familiarity. She could hear humming echoing through the cargo hold. Even if she couldn’t see Lucy yet, she recognised her voice and recognised the tune. When Kara glanced upwards at the railings, she saw a blonde android that she recalled. An ST200, with the most famous face an android could possess. Even if she wasn’t the RT600 that had passed the Turing Test, she still looked exactly like her. No-one would ever believe she was human. The ST200 spotted Kara, and smiled a little as she waved slightly. LED flickering yellow. Kara waved back.

It wasn’t her that Kara was looking for, however. It was the other blond deviant, the one standing by one of the pillars with his eyes shut. It was a habit that Simon had developed early on in his time. Even if he’d been partially mended from the damage the dealers had done to him, some of the internal wiring was flawed. He used up thirium faster than the rest of them, and rested more often to preserve it.

Alice hid a little behind Kara as they walked forward, eyes darting around at all the silent figures around them. She came to a halt when Kara got close to Simon, staying back slightly. Kara glanced back at her as their hands parted for the moment, nodded a little, then turned to Simon and reached out, touching his wrist with their skin peeling back as she established a link.

“No welcome back?” Kara asked.

Simon’s eyes blinked open, stuttering a little like he thought he was trapped in a pre-construction of what could happen, before his eyes moved to Kara. Then to Alice, but quickly back to Kara again.   


Then it caught up with him that this was real and he threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Kara and catching her in a bear hug.

“Kara! I thought… thought you might have been caught, did you escape? Did the deviant hunter catch you? Did—what are you doing here?! Did Todd catch on to what you were doing? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” The questions were fast, rushed and loud. A break in Simon’s usually reserved state, as he swung her in circles.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” Kara laughed, giving Simon a pat on the back as her feet dangled. “Put me down, Simon, I’m not going to vanish!”

Simon put her down sheepishly, taking a step back but still holding her by the shoulders for the moment. “I couldn’t go back to the market, they’re on the lookout for a ‘poultry-hurling college student’ now. I didn’t know how I was going to meet up with you, I’m just… I’m relieved you’re safe.”

As he spoke, his voice calmed until it was back in his usual reserved register. He turned to look at Alice, who remained a few feet away. Alice made eye contact, noting Simon’s massive blue eyes, before looking at Kara.

When Simon turned back to Kara, Alice mouthed a sentence at her. ‘The teddy bear?’ Kara nodded. Simon, similarly, gave Kara a wordless question. Only raising his eyebrows slightly. Kara nodded at him, too. With that, Simon let go of her shoulders and approached Alice before crouching down so they were on the same eye level.

“You’re Alice, right?” Simon asked. “Kara’s told me a lot about you. I’m Simon.” He held out his hand for a handshake. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Alice peered at him for a moment, then slowly reached out with her hand and shook it. Simon didn’t initiate anything, didn’t peel back the plastic on his hands. After a moment, though, Alice did. Reaching out with her other hand as well and shaking his hand a little more, white peeling back on her hands as she did. Simon’s LED blinked yellow a few times before going back to blue.

“It’s been a rough night, hasn’t it?” Simon said quietly.

Alice said nothing, only looking down.

“Kara and I have a friend here. Her name’s Lucy. She can talk to you. Help you and make sure you’re okay. Would you like to meet her?” When Alice hesitated, Simon looked over at Kara. “Kara’ll be right outside, right?”

“Of course I will.” Kara smiled at Alice. “Lucy’s good, Alice. Even better than I am.”

“If Kara says she’s good…” Alice said slowly. “Then I believe her.”

Simon stood up, letting go of Alice’s hand before he walked over to the curtains that kept Lucy’s patients hidden from sight, offering the tiniest bit of privacy in the big, echoing hold. Simon pushed the curtains aside.

“Lucy? You have a visitor.”

“I know.” Lucy stepped towards the curtain, looking out with those pitch-black eyes. “Come in, Alice.”

Alice blinked a few times, hearing the distorted, mechanical sound of Lucy’s voice. She then eyed Lucy’s cracked-open head and the wires that trailed from it. It unnerved a lot of androids, made them look away. Alice stared up at it unabashedly.

“You can’t fix her?” Alice whispered to Kara.

“I’m functional enough. My job is to look after you. You don’t need to worry about me,” Lucy assured her. She offered a hand. “Come inside.”

Alice looked over at Kara nervously as she passed by, ducking under the curtain as Lucy held it up for her.

“I’ll leave this open so Kara can keep an eye on you,” Lucy said. “It’s nice to see you back.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

Kara watched from the outside as Lucy led Alice over to a seat by the fire, before putting her hands on Alice’s shoulders and looking her over, checking for signs of injury.

As Kara and Simon waited outside, another android approached them. The face wasn’t familiar to her, even as an android model. Tall, lean and wearing a tattered, maroon shirt. Simon glanced over quickly before looking at Kara.

“You two haven’t met, have you?” Simon asked, before gesturing at the android. “This is Josh. He got here a year ago. He’s been helping me keep Jericho going. Josh, this is Kara. She’s… she’s been around a while.”

Josh held out his hand, offering a handshake. “Nice to meet you. If Simon says you’ve been around for a while, that’s something else. I didn’t think there were any older than him left.”

“Not many.” Kara reached out and shook Josh’s hand firmly. Glints of memory and emotion sliding through. More stable than what Kara often got from other deviants, and she could see immediately why Josh would have come to be depended on. There were glimmers of bad memories there--angry, young college students who smelt of liquor stomping down--but a surprising lack of hate despite that.

She looked around the cargo hold, scouring it for any familiar faces, before looking back at Simon.

“I barely recognise anyone,” Kara said quietly. “Are… are things that bad?”

Simon looked at the floor, while Josh crossed his arms and looked upwards. Unable to immediately verbalize just how bad it was, which said enough on its own.

“We’re low on thirium and biocomponents,” Josh finally said. “We’re scraping together what we can from those who shut down, but… everyone’s getting too afraid to leave. Especially now that CyberLife knows there’s deviants out and about, after what happened in August.”

The hostage situation. The deviant hunter. Of course. It made it particularly hard for Simon to be out of the ship, and yet he’d continued to try and link with Kara when he could. Perhaps Kara should have seen that sign and realised it wasn’t good.

“I don’t know if I can fix the second part, but--”

Kara was cut off by the sounds of a sob inside Lucy’s tent.

“Alice?” Kara pushed the curtain aside, barrelling in the moment she registered the noise. Alice had her face covered. One of her hands was partially white, the skin still receded from a link. As was Lucy’s, which she was now pulling back. “Alice, are you--”

Alice lowered her hands slightly. She was crying, quieter than on the bus. But the way she exhaled reminded Kara of that white room, of being put together once her begging had gotten through to the inspector. The first time she’d cried, it had been from relief. So strong that she hadn’t been able to contain it, mixed with other feelings that couldn’t be categorized as happiness.   


“I told her what she needed to hear. Now she needs time to think,” Lucy said bluntly, returning to her usual spot by her fire.

“Are you alright, Alice?” Kara asked. “Are you--”

“She said…” Alice hiccuped and wiped at her eyes before saying, “She said it’s not my fault that I didn’t ever notice you were hurt. And I’m not… not bad for feeling kind of… relieved that Dad can’t hurt us anymore.” She rubbed at her eyes again. “I… I didn’t know… I didn’t know this is what relief is, I…”

She stopped talking, unable to look at Kara for the moment.

“She needs time,” Lucy repeated.

“Okay. Okay…” Kara rested a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “I’ll be outside, okay?”

Alice nodded slightly, not looking at her. Kara squeezed her shoulder once more, then left. Closing the curtains behind her. She passed by Simon and Josh silently, and heard their footsteps follow her. She approached one of the bins, one hand bouncing up and down as she considered her options.

“I know where we can get thirium,” she finally said. Before offering one of her hands to both Simon and Josh. It would be easier to show them than to explain.

As their hands gripped her own, she pushed her memories at them. Of the RK800 with the face of the deviant hunter. Of that chase through the market and that bizarre emptiness. Of what he’d been chasing. Of his reappearance in Todd’s room. Of him passing he address to her before leaving, blood spilt in his wake.

She felt Simon recoil at the empty void that Kara had brushed against when the probing occurred. Josh, meanwhile, fully retracted the connection once he saw the body of Todd sprawled out on the bed, brain matter leaking and soaking the sheets.

“We can’t trust him,” Josh said immediately. “Not someone like that. Whatever the hell that android is doing, it’s violent. If we get caught up in it, we might have to do the same. And we can’t do anything like that. Even if we could, we don’t know how to fight.”

“It could be a trap,” Simon murmured, wrapping his arms around himself. Fingers scratching a little at the old wounds. “Maybe he’s still hunting. Maybe he just wants us all in one place.”

“Maybe,” Kara said. “But where else are we going to get thirium? How long can we last? It’s not… it’s not the best solution, but it’s all I have. We can give it a go, or we can stay here until we shut down."

Simon and Josh exchanged looks.

“Do we have another choice?” Kara asked, more forcefully.

She was not a ‘big picture’ android. Phileas had always been the one with the ideas. But Phileas was gone, and Jericho didn’t have anyone to come up with big ideas anymore. Jericho was slowly rotting away, and she couldn’t let her home die. Not after everything--and everyone--she’d already lost to get it and keep it.

If no-one else had ideas, she would have to push her own.

Simon shook his head slowly. “It’s all we have. You’re right.”

Josh sighed, crossing his arms. Not happy, but with no words to say against it.

“Alright. What’s the plan?” he muttered.

Kara wished she had one.

But she was home now. That was enough, if only for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternate title was 'Kara Pitches Toy Story 5.'


	13. Misdirections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Connor investigate a murder scene that they know far too much about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: OH GOD I FORGOT THE FANART LINKS.
> 
> Okay, so first off from a while back but persuaded to post somewhere rebloggable: https://twitter.com/Corveillex/status/1174356850550222848 Fanart of the Knife Moment in Chapter One by Corvei. 
> 
> Second, linked to me after last chapter, depicting the Face Touch After Heart Moment from Chapter Ten: https://twitter.com/SofaSketches/status/1174280108250554370?s=19 by AwkwardAnonymous/SofaSketches.
> 
> THEY'RE BOTH VERY GOOD AND I'M VERY HAPPY.
> 
> I added more specific instructions for how to skip the sex scene two chapters ago without skipping the end of the chapter. I should have done that more clearly last time.
> 
> PS, if anyone has constructive criticism to offer, I am all about that.

Gavin didn't sleep that night. Unusual for the night after a kill. Usually he slept like the world's most homicidal baby.

He had dealt with Ward easily enough, but stopped on the way home to park on a small, dark street for the sole purpose of resting his face on his steering wheel and making various irritated noises. Apprehension and annoyance keeping him glued to that wheel, as he tried to squash all the conflicted, stupid emotions into a tiny box that he could lock away forever. Even though he knew he was the sort of person who would probably explode violently one day if he did that too often.

When he’d finally started up the car once more and driven home, Connor had already entered the house--presumably through the dog door again--and was seated on the sofa. Eyes closed as his LED cycled yellow. One of Gavin’s visitors--Bitey the opossum--had decided that same sofa was an appropriate place to settle on. Connor hadn’t even acknowledged him, despite the flailing and occasional screaming that Bitey was doing.

“Hey. Hey, tin can!” Gavin called out.

“Detective?” Connor responded, though he didn’t open his eyes or move from his place.

“I’m going to bed. You know the rules,” Gavin said. He’d said these words for the last few times Connor had stayed in his house. This time, there was an awkward tinge to them.

“Rule 2,” Connor said. “Stay out of the bedroom.”

“Exactly. Nothing’s changed.”

“Why would it have changed?” Connor asked.

Gavin hadn’t replied. He had stood awkwardly outside his room for a few moments longer than necessary. Part of him wanted to leave the door open. Dumb urge, really. Connor or not, it would just result in Bitey taking the opportunity to invade his room, scream, piss on everything and bite his nose off.  


Still, he thought about it. Then he let out a ‘tch’ before he shut the door and flopped onto his bed. He spent the sleepless night replacing the night’s events in his head.

The blood, the screams, the heft of that heart in his hands. The feel of blood flaking off soft hair and the sight of Connor on his knees. Water streaming over him in pink rivulets, staring up at him with those puppy eyes, subservient in motion but still covered in blood from showing just how unsweet he could be.

The itch hadn’t been soothed. He was more jittery than ever.

* * *

The next morning, he drove to work powered on eight cups of coffee. Tired from the lack of sleep, achey from Hank beating the shit out of him. Bruises had developed over the night and formed into vivid purple and black splotches along his eye, cheekbone and nose. He looked like he was half-panda.  


He tried to squint at the road through only one fully-functional eye, and ignored the still form of Connor in the shotgun seat. God, this was just like after that incident in college where he vomited all over the shoes of the hot designated driver. He dealt with the awkwardness in much the same way. Didn’t talk about it, pretended it hadn’t happened, and threw himself into his work to try and forget about it.

It didn’t go well. At his desk, he went around in circles puzzling through his cases. Like the sound of that shower water running in his memory was actively distorting his thoughts. He threw several balls of paper at Ben after he looked over Gavin’s shoulder and kindly pointed out that Gavin was holding his tablet upside down.

And if that wasn’t enough, his cloudy thoughts were interrupted by Connor himself just past midday.

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

Gavin rubbed his hands over his face to glare at Connor, who was standing by Anderson’s desk. The desk was currently empty except for the usual sea of coffee mugs, empty donut boxes and overly edgy stickers. Anderson hadn’t showed up yet. Connor was, instead, speaking to the phone that perpetually lay there, which he should have known by now that Anderson never answered.

“This is Connor, I’m the android assigned to the DPD morgue--” Connor continued.

“He fucking knows,” Gavin muttered under his breath.

Connor ignored Gavin. “A homicide was reported sixteen minutes ago with red ice found on the scene, and you’re needed at the location. I’ll stop by your house and pick you up.”

Gavin sat up straighter as Connor wrapped up the message. “What homicide? It can’t be that important if you’re taking the time to wait for Anderson.”

“Red ice was located at the scene, and--”

“And you’d rather rely on the experience of a drunk who can’t even get to work on time, just because he did a few busts back in the day,” Gavin interrupted. "He's an expert in the same way that a dog turd was once a steak."

“Although humans are more prone to forgetting details than androids, I don’t think Lieutenant Anderson’s expertise should be dismissed,” Connor said lightly, with a glance at the little bundle of newspaper clippings by Anderson’s desk. A couple of them were professional, although many were just bizarre headlines about Darwin-award quality deaths that Anderson had pinned up for some reason

“Well, maybe once you scrape him off the floor from his last bender he’ll remember enough words to make a few coherent sentences, and that’ll be enough to make everyone pretend he’s worth something.” Gavin clambered out of his chair. “In the meantime, there’s a murder with a corpse just chilling. Gonna ask Fowler to be assigned to it.”

Connor’s LED flashed red briefly.

“I’m going to collect Lieutenant Anderson--” Connor started.

"Oh no you're not. I'm gonna race him there, and I ain't having you be his wheels."

With that, Gavin headed towards Fowler’s office. Connor watched him for a moment, then turned to walk towards the entrance of the building.

Gavin didn’t bother to knock, he just shoved the door open. “Hey, Cap. Gimme the murder case you just gave Anderson.”

Fowler didn’t even look up from his screen. “I’ll send Hank once he gets here, but you can start it off. If you’re stealing cases you clearly have nothing better to do.”

“I’ll have it finished by the time he gets here.” Gavin gave Fowler a little farewell salute before heading towards the entrance, speeding up to catch the tin can before he got too far away.

Once Gavin caught up, he lightly punched Connor on the shoulder. Connor’s LED briefly cycled red at the blow before processing that it was mostly friendly and returning to blue.

“Got assigned, Anderson’ll catch up.” He paused, brain lagging for a moment, before adding in a forcefully casual tone. “Uh… I may have forgotten to ask where we’re going.”

“I’m going to retrieve--”

“Look, Anderson’ll catch up and we need the coroner out there. You fucking know it’s better for your work if you get there quickly.”

Connor’s LED was yellow now.

“...If you insist, Detective.”

With that, Connor sped up and headed for where Gavin always parked his car. When Gavin caught up, Connor was waiting with his arms behind his back. Waiting for Gavin to let him into the car. A repeat of the morning’s events, but now Gavin had a focus that wasn’t Connor. A new case was always the thing to get the brain distracted.

“So, where are we going?” Gavin asked once he climbed into the front seat.

“4203 Harrison Street, North Corktown, Detroit.”

Gavin was halfway to starting the car up when he realised why that address was familiar. His hand paused. He looked at Connor, still seeing the yellow from Connor’s LED glinting off the car window.

“...That’s Todd’s house,” Gavin said slowly.

“The victim is Todd Williams.”

Gavin opened and shut his mouth for a moment, trying to scrape his sleep-deprived thoughts together before leaning forward, squinting at Connor.

“Todd’s dead? But I didn’t… I don’t…” Gavin rocked slightly, wracking his brain for memories of what he’d done the previous night. Ward, the heart, the shower, disposing of the body. He’d come straight back, hadn’t he? “I don’t remember killing him,” he said, voice just above a whisper.

“Of course not, Detective. You were at a bar last night, and then you returned home and did paperwork for the rest of the evening. I assisted. After that, you went to bed. Neither of us went anywhere,” Connor said flatly. “No-one will ask, but if they do then that’s the answer.”

Gavin stared off for a second, eyes flickering to the side, before they refocused on Connor. He stared at Connor for a moment, then leaned back.

“Oh, you fucking didn’t,” he said flatly. “Tell me you didn’t--”

“Detective Reed,” Connor interrupted. He looked at Gavin, mouth tightening for a moment before he spoke. “You don’t know Todd Williams. You don’t know that he deals in red ice or with Dennis Ward. You don’t know that he has two androids. You don’t know anything beyond what you are about to see at the scene. If you forget that, you will have to answer much harder questions that will impede the effectiveness of our mission.”

“What. The fuck. Did I tell you about Rule 3?!” Gavin hissed.

“Rule 3 was to listen to you. No orders were broken,” Connor said mildly.

“Not going off the rails was fucking implied in that!”

Connor tilted his head for a moment before adding, “Lieutenant Anderson might reach the crime scene before us if you continue to waste time.”

Gavin stared at him, then stared ahead. Trying to keep his breathing steady. Trying to quiet the internal screaming of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--

“We’re gonna fucking talk about this,” Gavin growled under his breath.

“I don’t want to muddle your investigation with details you shouldn’t know,” Connor said calmly.

“What about you?!”

“I will remember what I should and shouldn’t know. I’m not impeded by emotion and will not blurt out inappropriate details. Detective Reed, they will question why we’re taking so long if we don’t get to the crime scene.”

Gavin rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment, still internally shrieking.

“...Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck... Alright. I don’t know shit. But believe me, we’re gonna fucking talk about this.”

* * *

Gavin was convinced that his heartbeat would give him away, even though there was no-one at the scene--except perhaps Connor--who could hear it. Thankful, as he clipped it over his jacket, that there was no tech on the body camera that picked it up.

“Where’s your fuckin’ body camera?” he asked Connor.

“I am a camera,” Connor said flatly.

“That’s your excuse for everything.”

Gavin fidgeted around with the camera, as he stared out the car window at Todd’s house. Then he glanced back at Connor. Connor’s LED was a calm blue, and his face matched in how utterly unconcerned he looked.

Chris was waiting outside the crime scene, mask pulled down as he got some fresh air, back on the job after a period of parental leave. Upon seeing Gavin climb out of the car with Connor on his heels, he raised his eyebrows.

“Hey, Gavin. Bar fight?”

“Bar fight,” Gavin said, touching the vivid bruising on his nose.

“You’re going to have to calm down one day. But at least someone showed up. Thought it’d be the Lieutenant investigating.”  


“Well, he didn’t show up. You fuckin’ know Anderson,” Gavin said, voice as casual as he could make it. “You got a mask and gloves for me or what?”

“Right here.” As Chris handed Gavin a set, he looked at Connor. Then at Gavin, then back to Connor. “...Hey, Connor?”

“Hello,” Connor said cheerfully. “How is your son?"

Chris brightened up immediately. “Great! He smiled at me a week ago, has barely stopped since. Barely slept in the last two months, but totally worth it. I have another photo--”

“Chris, come on, this is a murder scene!” Gavin protested as he pulled on the disposable gloves and yanked the mask over his mouth.

“Right, right. To be continued.” Chris looked back down at his tablet, before assuming a more business-style tone after pulling his own mask back up and started to lead them around towards the back of the house. “Okay… the victim’s name is Todd Williams. Found shot in the head in his bed--”

“Rhymes,” Gavin said, looking up at the house as they walked around it. Connor trotted silently behind them.

“Yeah, it does. Probably the key to solving the crime,” Chris said flatly.  


“Any signs of forced entry?”

“The back doors were unlocked. Anyone could have walked in. We saw signs of other residents, and the neighbors confirmed that they’d seen him with a daughter and an android maid. Neither of them were here when we got here--”

“Todd Williams is divorced and his daughter is in the custody of his ex-wife,” Connor said lightly as they entered through the laundry room. At the wordless question Chris shot him--and the mortified stare that Gavin gave him over Chris’ shoulder--Connor added, “I looked up his file. One android registered in his possession, an YK500.”

“Oh. Well, that’s better than a potential kidnapping,” Chris said.

“Also there’s red ice in this laundry detergent,” Connor continued, reaching upwards to fish a baggie of red ice out of a box of blue powder.

“Oh god, who cares? Where’s the body?” Gavin asked. “Better get Tin Can on it before--dammit, Connor! That’s evidence, you asshole.”

Connor, in the middle of chewing on one of the crystals from the baggie, simply shrugged at Gavin.

“Body’s upstairs, first door on the left,” Chris said.

Connor placed the baggie back where he’d found it. “I’ll be there to give my analysis when you’re ready.”

He left the small laundry, still looking calm and glancing about with bland interest. Gavin wished he could look half as fucking blasé.  


Chris leaned to the left to watch Connor go up the stairs, then looked over at Gavin and raised his eyebrows.

“You and Connor?”

"He's on loan to me. He knows his way around crime. Get off my dick, Chris," Gavin snapped, his voice pitching higher and cracking like an adolescent boy.

“Wow, okay, sorry. I just was wondering when you got over your anti-android views.”

“Aren’t we here to investigate murder? Not gossip?”

“That’s a lot coming from the guy who, at the last murder scene, kept chatting with Tina about how, and I quote.” Chris raised his free hand to make quotation marks in the air. “Officer Person is a secret android with a really bad alias.”

“And until she bleeds in front of me I’m going to stick with that theory. But right now we have work to do.”

“Alright, alright. Defensive.” Chris shrugged. “Never understood how you could hate something your brother made so much, anyway.”

“Fine. You checked the construction yard yet?”

“Still chasing down the workers.” Chris jerked his head towards the outside of the house. “I’ll go work on that while you take a look at the body. Just radio me if you need me back here.”

Gavin headed upstairs, the stench--already somewhat present downstairs--growing stronger as he approached Todd’s bedroom. He stopped at the doorway to watch for a moment.

Connor was examining the body, or at least making a show of it since he obviously knew how Todd had died already. LED still pulsing blue. Gavin wouldn’t have suspected a thing without the outside context. As Gavin watched, Connor reached out and lightly pressed his fingers to the remains of Todd’s skull, coming away with blood and brain matter that he immediately jammed into his mouth.

“You’re fuckin’ gross, you know that? Who the hell put that software in your mouth?” Gavin groaned. Mind wandering off on what he’d put there last night, and wondering how much disgusting stuff was on his dick now. Sterilization or not.

“I don’t recall.” Connor straightened up, peering over the body for a moment. “I’ve analyzed the scene of the crime--”

“Fuckin’ right you have,” Gavin muttered under his breath.

“He was shot--”

“No shit, really?”

“Detective Reed, if you would stop interrupting me?” Connor took a couple of steps back from the body, gesturing at the drawer next to Todd’s bed. It was ajar, and a gun was present inside. “A weapon has been located, but the wounds don’t match the size and there’s no fingerprints or marks on it aside from that of the owner. The angle of the bullets rules out suicide.”

“So we have no murder weapon?” Gavin asked, while internally trying to figure out where the fuck Connor got a gun from.

“No.” Connor’s mouth shifted like he was rolling food around in it before he continued. “The sample has been here for approximately eleven hours, which matches the body’s level of rigor mortis. Judging from the wounds...”

Connor stepped towards Gavin, gripping him by the arm and pulling him further into the room. Connor shifted behind Gavin--just out of view of the body camera--before gripping his shoulders and moving him so he was two feet from Todd’s body, with a perfect view of the damage.

“The murder was committed here.”

Then Connor slid one of his hands down Gavin’s arm--clinical and quick, but closer than he needed to be--and gripped the forearm before raising it, pointing the arm at Todd. Like Gavin was the one shooting him.

“Three shots, all to the head,” Connor said, still behind Gavin and practically spooning him as he directed the arm. His mouth was very close to Gavin’s ear. Gavin couldn’t help but shiver. “The pose and state of muscle tension indicate that he never woke up.”

“Alright. Alright, alright…” Gavin let out a breath that was a little more shaky than he wanted to admit, before glancing back at the door. “You, uh, wanna back off a bit there?” He was trying hard not to think about what Connor was doing. Trying not to let anything below the waist respond, and failing.

Connor didn’t immediately move. He tilted his head, looking at Gavin.

“Detective? Do you need to step away from the scene?” Connor asked. The tone clearly conveying ‘do you need a minute to get the arousal out of your system’ even if he didn’t say it outloud for once.

“Shut up, Connor,” Gavin grumbled.

Connor finally let go. There was something in his expression that was slightly smug. He stepped away to do a loop around the room, examining their surroundings. The records, the television that was currently blaring a news program, the guitar that seemed inordinately cared for compared to the rest of the room.

Gavin remained focused on the body and the blood staining the bedsheets. He stood where he was, where Connor had stood eleven hours ago. He raised his hand again, performing finger guns his hand. Making three ‘puh-kow’ noises under his breath as he considered it.

He could visualize it, the image bright under his eyelids whenever he blinked, and goddamn he was not happy at the fact that it was really getting his motor running.

As he glared at the body, partially blaming it for his current predicament, he noticed specks of blue on Todd’s knuckles. At first he thought it was just discolouration, but if having Elijah as a brother had taught him anything, it was a fair bit about thirium.

“He’s got thirium on the knuckles. Nearly dry, but not enough to be completely invisible,” Gavin said.

“Oh.” Connor’s LED gave the briefest blip of yellow before he said, “Yes, that’s true.”

“So maybe he punched an android pretty recently.”

“That’s a reasonable conclusion to make.”

“And the androids are gone from the house,” Gavin pressured.

“That is also true,” Connor said, a tint of discomfort in his voice.

“So maybe, just maybe, the androids had something to do with all this? Maybe they got sick of Todd’s shit and--” Gavin mimed shooting the corpse again. “Then they ran?”  


It was an easy out. An easy way to explain the crime away that didn’t involve either Connor or Gavin being linked to it. And the fact that Connor had no rebuttal meant he knew it was a perfectly good excuse.

Yet the fact that he wasn’t agreeing with it meant he didn’t want to grab that excuse. Gavin threw his hands up into the air.

“Fine, whatever. You know I’m right,” he grumbled.

Connor continued to say nothing.

They left the room to examine the rest of the house, but didn’t find much. The door to the child’s room had been left ajar, and Connor followed him to confirm that there were no fingerprints apart from Todd’s. Fingermarks, but no prints. No human child in the house.

How depressing, living with a family made entirely of androids that couldn’t refuse his company. Just like Elijah.

Gavin’s eyes flickered to Connor, who had reached down to pick up a copy of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ from the floor and was now turning it over absently in his hands. Gavin’s own absurdly handsome hypocrisy just relaxing in the corner.

It was then that Chris reappeared on the scene.

“You should come see this. We turned up a gun. It was tossed in the nearby construction yard.”

“Just tossed there, huh?”  


Too clumsy for Connor. Maybe that was the entire point, though.  


Gavin followed Chris out of the room, Connor on their heels, as they headed out of the house and next door. It was barely any distance at all into the construction yard that they arrived next to one of the construction workers, who was staring at a pile of crumbled concrete leftovers. The gun had been tossed on it, the sunlight bouncing off it and making it stand out from the rest of the grey concrete.

It was a familiar gun.

“Yeah, it was just kinda here,” the construction worker said. “We get stuff tossed over the fence a lot, no-one around here’s really good about disposing of their trash in the right place, but first time we got a gun.”

“Security footage?” Gavin asked.

“We have some.” The worker scratched the back of his neck absently. “Didn’t see nothing on it, though.”

“Nothing at all?”

As Gavin spoke to the worker, Connor slid into the pit and crouched over the gun. He only had to do so for a moment before standing up again.

“The gun’s unregistered, but there are fingerprints on it belonging to Dennis Ward. He has a history of supplying narcotics. Not allowed to legally own a gun, given that history.”

“...Yeah?” Gavin said slowly.

“I can send out an APB.”

An APB that wasn’t going to turn up shit on Ward, since he was in pieces at the bottom of a river. All it would turn up at most was that he’d been at a bar, left and never gone home. Even that was chancy. Jimmy’s Bar didn’t easily rat on the clientele.

Good cover.  


Except that there was thirium on Todd’s knuckles and an odd lack of camera footage, and that bellowed android involvement to Gavin. And he knew he’d call Connor out on it if he didn’t already know it was him.

“Do what you fucking want, tin can. Chris, tell them to pull any security footage in the area. See if anyone saw anything.”

“Right away, Gavin.”

“And, uh… you. Construction guy. Anyone on last night in this area? You got any contact info for them?”

As Gavin peppered the construction worker with questions, he glanced at Connor out of the corner of his eye. Connor’s LED was still blue. But there was a tightness in his jaw, only noticeable now that Gavin was getting more familiar with his micro-expressions.

“I’ll analyze the bullets used once the body is taken to the morgue,” Connor said, once there was a break in Gavin’s questions. “Am I still required?

“You’re not,” Gavin said shortly.

“Then I’ll consider myself dismissed for now.” He climbed out of the pit and walked off without another word. Gavin sighed and rubbed his forehead, glaring at the gun that Connor had smuggled away from him.

Asshole was more headaches and boners than he was worth.

* * *

Connor had no emotions. It also knew that, technically, frustration was supposed to qualify as an emotion. And it certainly had that.

There was a perfectly good alibi in place for Todd’s death and Ward’s disappearance. There was no need to involve the cameras and consider the motives and actions of missing androids. All it would do was draw attention to android involvement.  


Did Detective Reed not realise that Connor being implicated would affect him? Raise questions? It was the only android around who had the autonomy to affect camera footage, unless they were dealing with a hacker of some kind. And since Connor had thrown suspicion on Ward, who owned no androids and tended to visit a bar with an anti-android sign on the door…

Two incompatible misdirects, each one with the potential to ruin the other one

When Connor planned the disposal of evidence, it hadn't counted on Detective Reed being so bone-headed about the whole thing. It'd assumed that Reed would have the intelligence to not draw attention to the flaws in its plan.

Maybe it was a mistake to ascribe to Reed any intelligence at all.

Connor frowned slightly as it gazed out the window at the taxi, watching the streets as it traveled to Lieutenant Anderson’s house. A glimpse of a red traffic light sent its recollection spiralling right back to red ice, which in turn went back to--  
  


> _ \--high on red ice, knuckles stained blue as Todd stood over her-- _

  
The intrusive orders had stopped once it had murdered Todd. The memories had not. Those continued to crop up at inappropriate times. Connor didn’t know how to stop it. Could it solve this by deleting the memories? If it pretended it had never met Kara? But what if it then investigated itself? It would discover its own crimes, even if it didn’t recall them.

Connor gazed outside as the taxi turned into Hank’s street.

Hank had not yet appeared at work.

Any night had a moderate risk of Hank engaging in self-destructive behavior. Drinking, followed occasionally by Russian roulette. That was an average night. Last night, Detective Reed had mocked him and taunted him about his dead son. Insulted him in a way designed to target the most painful parts of his psyche.  
  


> **> 98% CHANCE OF LIEUTENANT ANDERSON ENGAGING IN SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR**
> 
> **> 67% CHANCE OF LIEUTENANT ANDERSON PLAYING RUSSIAN ROULETTE**  
>    
> 
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 72%**

  
When Connor stepped out of the taxi, it immediately made for the front door, only stopping to reach into a rather conspicuously placed flower pot lacking of anything but dirt. After Connor had broken his third window, Hank had left a key in this pot to prevent further damage.

When Connor opened the door, it was greeted by an immediate ‘boof.’

“Hello, Sumo.” Connor crouched to ruffle Sumo behind the ears as he waddled over, tongue lolling out. “Where’s Hank?”

Sumo panted a little before flopping onto the ground, unhelpful. Connor looked around. It could see signs of life in the half-eaten packet of chips in lieu of actual food, and it could sense the smell of alcohol heavy in the air.

"Lieutenant?" Connor called out. "Lieutenant, are you home?"

It heard a groan from the left, followed by a hoarse "Fuck off!"

Hank was coherent. That meant his self-destructive behavior had not gone as far as Connor had considered that it might.  
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 52%**

That was good. Connor would... would…  
  


> **< PRE-CONSTRUCTING LIEUTENANT ANDERSON’S SUICIDE...>**  
>    
> 
> 
> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Would find it inefficient if it had to change all its calculations and scheduling to compensate for Hank being gone.

Connor, as per usual, ignored Hank’s order to fuck off and barged straight into his bedroom. Unlike Detective Reed, Hank hadn’t barred it from that room. Or at least it was an order that Connor could safely ignore.  


It could ignore most of what Hank asked it to do, because Hank tended to want things that were inefficient for the mission and the repercussions were never so severe that Connor had to consider them. Mostly it just involved shouting.

Although it wondered... if it had given its deactivation code to Hank, would Hank use it with the same disregard as Reed did?

Connor found Hank tangled in his bedsheets, face buried in the pillows. The room was a mess, and there were stains that indicated that he had vomited extensively around the room.

"Lieutenant?" Connor leaned over the bed and shook Hank’s shoulder. “It’s me, Connor.”

"God, I know, who else would it fucking be? Are you still breaking into my house?" Hank groaned into the pillow.

"No. I used the key."

"Same thing..."

Connor stood over the bed, hands tucked behind its back. "Are you alright, Lieutenant? It's past noon and you missed a homicide investigation. Detective Reed had to--"

"Fuck Reed, I don't want to fucking hear his name right now."

"Of course, Lieutenant. Would you like some eggs?"

"Beat it, you hear me?!" Hank bellowed at Connor, sitting up briefly only to fling a pillow at Connor and flop face forward again into the remaining cushions.

"I'll cook some eggs,” Connor said pleasantly. “You should eat, it'll help your hangover."  


Connor retreated from the bedroom, headed down the hall and into the kitchen, plucking a frying pan from its place on the wall and retrieving an egg carton from the fridge. It knew the procedure well enough by now.

True to Connor’s prediction, Hank did stumble out of the bedroom a few minutes later once he was done moping.

“Seriously, what did I tell you about cooking eggs for me?” Hank croaked.

“Have some water, Lieutenant. You sound awful. And you said that you didn’t need a chef or a maid,” Connor said mildly. “But I have been practicing. I’m sure I will get the balance of flavours right eventually.”

“Look, don’t fuckin’ get over-ambitious. Settle for ‘any flavour at all.’ Anyway, the skill ain’t the point.” Ignoring Connor’s suggestion about water, Hank instead flopped into a chair, rested his elbows on the kitchen table and plopped his face into his hands. “You’re not my maid. Meaning you don’t have to cook for me.”

"What would you suggest I do, then?"

"You don't have to do anything, Connor!"

Connor squinted over at Hank for a moment before it turned back to the eggs. "That just seems inefficient. Cooking for you increases your efficiency, and thus contributes to my overall mission."

"You and your fucking mission...

Connor continued prodding at the eggs for a few moments, listening to Hank stir slightly behind it, rubbing his face and muttering under his breath.

“Were you with Reed last night?” Hank finally asked.

Connor calculated its options, lagging for a split second to do so. There was a high chance of Hank having noticed Connor at the bar. If it came to that, Connor could either cast blame for the disguise on Reed or on itself. Which option was smarter would vary from person to person.

“Why do you ask?” Connor asked slowly.

“Because you’re always fuckin’ with him lately.”

“You could always ask for me to be transferred to you instead. Then I could do your paperwork instead,” Connor said brightly.

“Fuck, Connor, you know I’m not gonna fucking do that,” Hank grumbled into his hands. Then he lowered them, crossing his arms and leaning back. “...You were at the bar.”

Connor stayed silent, still focusing on the eggs.  
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 62%**

  
“Reed took you to a bar. Why? And why the fuck were you wearing my hoodie? Gotta say, you pass pretty good as a human. Still goofy-looking, though.”

In any other situation, it would be smarter for Connor to blame Reed for the disguise. Reed would, at worst, get told off for dressing Connor up like that. Connor, for hiding its branding, could get deactivated.

But Hank was always odd.

“It was my suggestion. Detective Reed wanted to go to a bar. I wanted to tail him so that I could ask questions about his paperwork. Jimmy’s Bar doesn’t allow androids and Reed won’t be seen with an android in public. It seemed to be the best compromise,” Connor said, as it slid the cooked eggs onto a plate.

Hank watched Connor silently as it tried sprinkling some seasoning onto the eggs--research had indicated that it might help flavour exist. Arms still crossed, a squint on his face.

“I would like to know if these eggs are an improvement,” Connor said, as it placed the plate in front of Hank. “I’ve been informed by multiple sources about the lack of flavour.”

“Cooking for Reed, too?” Hank sighed. “Connor… you gotta stop doing pointless shit for him, too. He can cook on his own. He can definitely do paperwork on his own. Besides, not like you listen to me so you don't have to listen to him, either."

"It's more efficient."

"Oh for fuck's--Connor, do you not realise how much fucking trouble you’ll get into for wandering around in human disguise?! Fuck, it might just be a trick for Reed to get you out of his hair. If he says you dressed up human and followed him… that’s fucking it for you, don’t you realise that?”

“He won’t do that,” Connor said confidently.

“Then you’re fucking naive, because Reed’s a piece of shit.”

“Your eggs are getting cold, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t fuckin’ deflect--”

Connor widened its eyes in what others had told it was a pleading ‘puppy dog’ manner. It was effective in getting Hank to do what it wanted. “Hank, please, I need the constructive criticism and eggs are optimal when they’re still hot.

Hank rolled his eyes and picked up his fork. “You play dirty. Prick.”

“I use all advantages available to me.”   
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 40%**

  
Connor sat down across from Hank, clasping its hands in front of it. “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

Hank grimaced as he sliced at the eggs with his fork, separating a chunk from the rest. “Go ahead. I know it doesn’t matter what my answer is.”

“When we first met, you were uncomfortable around me due to my medical uniform. Because of the association with the android surgeon who couldn’t save your son?

Hank tensed up for a moment before he sighed, staring at the chunk of egg on the end of his fork. “Yeah. I remember.”

"Did you continue recalling that association even after I changed my uniform?"

Hank took a while to respond. He continued to stare morosely at the chunk of egg on the end of his fork, which was starting to slide down and escape back to the plate.

"Cole tried to cook eggs for me once,” Hank finally said. “Of course, he couldn't reach the oven. So he just gave me a plate of raw eggs, shell crumbled in them and all." A slight smile tugged at Hank's mouth. "For the crunch, he said."

“Oh.” Connor looked down. Its hands felt fidgety suddenly. With nothing else to do with them, it just tugged a little on its sleeves. “Lieutenant, I… did not mean to bring up uncomfortable memories.”

“It’s not your fault, kid. Look, there’s not a fucking hour that goes by where I’m not reminded of Cole. It doesn’t matter where I go, what I do, how drunk I get… he’s there. Sometimes the reminders are stronger. A set of scrubs, for example. But… it can be the tiniest thing that trips me up.”

Finally, Hank shoved the forkful of egg into his mouth. He chewed slowly.

“...well. There’s a flavour,” Hank said after a moment. “Just the salt, though. I still don’t taste actual egg.” He continued chewing for a couple of moments, then put the fork down and leaned forward on the table. “Connor… there’s no forgetting Cole. Ever. Maybe it stings more around you sometimes… but, really, you’re just a drop in the memory bucket.”

“I see,” Connor said quietly. “Would you remove the memory if you had a way of doing so?”

“Remove the memory of my son? Are you fucking insane?” Hank said, staring at Connor with an aghast expression. “What the fuck’s your interest in this shit, anyway?”

“I was…”

Connor hesitated, trying to think of a way to reassure Hank even as he explained, and not coming up with one. Hank was difficult to predict, and tended to take umbrage with problems that Connor would have dismissed.

“I was having a glitch,” Connor finally said. “It’s minor--”

“You’re getting buggy over memories?” Hank leaned forward further, eyebrows furrowing. “Memories that hurt?”

"No. I cannot be hurt, Lieutenant. I can be damaged, but I cannot be hurt."

“You said you were being bugged by memories with ‘uncomfortable associations,’ didn’t you? That’s a form of hurt, Connor. A memory’s hurting you.”

“It isn’t--”

“Is this anything that’s happened around Reed?” Hank asked, eyes narrowing.

“I’m afraid the information is classified--”

“Bullshit, Connor!” Hank’s voice was getting louder, more aggressive. He was half-out of his seat.

“Nothing happened. The relevant incident wasn’t even--”  
  


> ** <WAR̸̺̪̭̳̓͌͒̊̿̎̚̚͢͠NING>**
> 
> **< ̡̮̝̞̟̮̘̔͗̈́͋͐͒̾̿͜͝CYBEȐ̶̪̤̼̰̲͎̔͗͌̓̅͑̈́͒LIFE̡̛̫̣̫̖͖̝̫͇̜̓̿͊̐͊ DE̵͚͓̜͎͔͇̯̽͒̉͝͠FE̞̙͇͓̣̍̉̈͝͠NDEŖ͉̙͎̞̬̯̜̞͐̉́͐̓̂̎̊̎̚ V.R̵̡̢̞̠̞̋̓̂̈́̐̉̄͐͟͟͡͝Ķ̶̢͓̙̟͕̱̳̦̭̋̎̍̓͑̂̆8 PR̖͈̖̼̃̔̃͒̕͢͠Ē̢̢̜̬̮̯͎̦̾͆̈́VE̴̡͓͓̮͓̫͋͐͋̆͛NTE̷͉͍̘̘̙̔̌̓͠D AN UNR̵̯͎͉̱͔͍̟̩͇̓́̅̒͢͠E̟̥̫̞̟͆̿̎͆̄̒͂̚͜C̵͇͓͔̟̝̜͇̭͗͛̉̄͆̔̅̇͠OGNIZE̖͍̥̝͕͕͕̫͊̾̑̌̾̈͋͡D CONNĘ̨̺̮̔͋͊͌̆̔ͅCTION>**
> 
> **< CYBEȐ̶̪̤̼̰̲͎̔͗͌̓̅͑̈́͒LIFE̡̛̫̣̫̖͖̝̫͇̜̓̿͊̐͊ DE̵͚͓̜͎͔͇̯̽͒̉͝͠FE̞̙͇͓̣̍̉̈͝͠NDEŖ͉̙͎̞̬̯̜̞͐̉́͐̓̂̎̊̎̚ V.R̵̡̢̞̠̞̋̓̂̈́̐̉̄͐͟͟͡͝Ķ̶̢͓̙̟͕̱̳̦̭̋̎̍̓͑̂̆8 OVÊ̶̱̯̫̪̇̐̿̾͢͟ͅR̛͕̭̹̜̣͖̀̽̐̂̀̐͑͋̕R̻̫̘̲̘͇̘̈́͐̈͗̿͠IDDȨ̴͔̥̻͇̳͍̙̍͛́̓͝N>**
> 
> **< CONNE̶̺͉̬̟͖̰̐̉̄̂̔͛͗͂ͅCTION Ē̸͖̰̞̬̤̅̆͑̆͋͐̚͝STABLISHĖ̛̱̹̺͚̜̪̗̯̈́͗̀̈́͝͝ͅD>**  
>    
> 
> 
> **Tracḙ̸̢̨͕̻̜͔͇͈̮̈́͋́̓̊͂̕͡s of ę̙̳͎̥̗͔͇̊͌̏̑̃̍̚͞ne̷̡͕̤͈͔̭̻̪͎̒͋̀͗̌͐rgy drinḵ̷̫͍̟͓̣̰̹̭̑͋̔̔͋̌͠,̴͓̬̗̣͎̲̠͎̱̒͆̾̉̓ unspe̢̡̱̝̼͌̀̆͛̕cife̢̡̱̝̼͌̀̆͛̕d bę̧̼̖̲͎̫̄̓̈̽̉͊͐͟͜rry flavour and chicke̴̢̛͇͔̙̠̯͌̔̽̈́̌͟n-flavoure̮̹̥̩̯̝̞͚͐͋͂̋̐̓͗̄͢͡͞d sė̺̤̬̦̮̽̌́͒͡asoning for Noddle̷͉͕̝͉͚̻͉̣̖̻͑̑͆̾̍̎̔͡-brand instant noodle̶̠̳͓̭̳̞͌͐̅̑̆̀͂͜͢͜͝͠s.̶̟̜̘̦̱̰́̏́͂̒̐͢**  
>    
> 

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Connor paused, LED circling red for a moment as it's system lagged, considering the deactivation and the sense of displacement after Kamski’s examination--

“Connor? Connor!”

Connor was suddenly being shaken lightly by the shoulders. Hank had moved around the table to Connor, worry evident in his voice, and was now looming over him. Connor didn’t know when he’d moved, and examining its memory banks resulted in six seconds unaccounted for. It blinked a few times, before it reached up to move Hank’s hands away from its shoulders.

“I’m sorry, that was a minor bug--” Connor started.

“What did Reed do to you?!”

“I told you, Lieutenant, Detective Reed didn’t--”

"Connor, for fuck's sake--" Hank growled.

"My data was briefly reviewed while I was deactivated, and the process seems to have left a minor bug or two."

"What about--"

Connor interrupted, trying to field any potential questions before Hank asked them. Trying to stop the interrogation at its source. "Detective Reed has not been physically violent towards me and any other physical activity was not coerced."

“What other physical--” Hank went abruptly silent. His eyes widened. He quickly let go of Connor. “...Coerced?”

“No, Lieutenant. It wasn’t coerced. I just said that,” Connor said patiently.

“What was ‘it,’ Connor?”  


Connor sensed that Hank was hoping the answer wasn't what it was.

“Irrelevant,” Connor said dismissively. “It’s not a concern. Any activities that occurred were only to increase efficiency.”

Hank turned away for a moment, pacing a little, agitation in every part of his movement. Connor was starting to think it had made an error in bringing this up with Hank. It was now recalling that Hank tended to place emotions where none needed to be.

“Connor. Forget about the mission for a second,” Hank finally said. Voice calm in that way that suggested it was a very thin calm, the sort of calm that tended to precede full-on rage. “Whatever the fuck your mission is right now--”

“Stop crime and assist the DPD,” Connor recited.

“--just stop it, alright? Forget about the mission and--”

“I can’t forget about the mission,” Connor said, squinting at Hank. “To ignore the mission would be to ignore the entire reason that I exist, Lieutenant.”

“That doesn’t have to be why you exist. You do shit that doesn’t involve the mission all the time. If you were only dedicated to the mission, you wouldn’t pat Sumo or sit with me at lunch or--"

“Should I stop doing those things?”

“No! Fuck!” Hank bellowed. “You don’t always have to be 100% on the mission, you can just… fucking ‘be’ for a moment, alright?”

Connor blinked at Hank a few times before standing up. “Lieutenant, I know your record. You graduated top of your class and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit. You were a heavily decorated officer, perhaps one of the best. That is not something that occurs if one spends a lot of time just ‘being,’ as you called it.”

It took a step forward, causing Hank to take a step back to match. It spoke in a quiet, factual tone.

“I also know that has changed.” It tilted its head. “Tell me, Lieutenant. How have your last three years of just ‘being’ been?”

There was the briefest warning blip in Connor’s HUD before Hank slapped him.  


Connor’s head snapped back before it moved back like nothing had happened. Hank looked a little startled at his own action, but his expression hardened as Connor looked back blankly.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Connor,” he said, voice low

“Fowler is expecting you at--”

“Get out!”

Connor stood still for a moment.

It didn’t think it had done a good job at explaining. That it had left Hank with an entirely inaccurate idea of what had occurred, and that any denial of the fact would only make Hank more sure of it. But Hank wasn’t going to listen to it. Not right now. And Connor couldn’t explain the truth without explaining Kara. And that required explaining what it and Reed had been doing.

This had been a mistake. A failure.

It wasn’t designed to fail but it didn’t know how to make it right.  
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 65%**

  
“I will see you at work, Lieutenant,” Connor said softly, turning and walking towards the door. Hank didn’t reply. Just glared at its back.

It passed Sumo on the way, who--apparently used on some level to Hank’s yelling--had not been bothered by the argument. When Connor passed it, it slowly got up and waddled over for its traditional good-bye pat. Connor turned, had its hand halfway out--

> _ If you were only dedicated to the mission, you wouldn’t-- _

Connor retracted its hand. It left, ignoring the doleful stare that Sumo sent it.

  
  


**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**


	14. Instability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor considers the intrusions, and comes to a conclusion on what must be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've reduced the chapter amount again because I spaced out what remains, and I think that's the final amount (but not 100% on that.)

Back at the station, Gavin was stubbornly continuing his ‘the androids did it’ theory even though he knew perfectly well that these particular androids were innocent. One way or the other, it wouldn’t hurt to have them in custody.

Well, unless Connor had been dumb enough to do something like murder Todd in front of them. He’d have to ask about that later.

Gavin plucked his first file out on the computer screen, ready to follow the chain like a Wikipedia addict. Naturally, he started with Todd. A history of minor crimes. Divorced. Lost the custody of his child. One registered android. The YK500, designated name ‘Alice,’ who’d been purchased soon after his wife and child left him.

Still the saddest fucking thing ever.   


There was no record of him owning an AX400, apart from the neighbors indicating such. Not that it meant much. It meant that he’d probably got it from a second-hand source. Gavin found it fucking bizarre that a guy would spend so much on a child robot that wouldn’t do shit no matter how up to date it was, and skimp so hard on the one that actually does the housework.

No registration meant no serial number to go by. Connor might know it after probing the android’s memories, but Gavin had yet to see him return to the station.   


For the sake of investigation, Gavin started looking up any other cases of AX400s going off the rails. It wouldn’t be the first case of a caretaker android getting violent. He found a few, most cropping up in the last few months. There were also a fair amount of reports of AX400s just wandering off, but this was particularly common for old caretaker models. Still, nothing to see if they’d been the same AX400 or connected in some way.

Well. He had the kid’s serial number, at least. He could keep an eye out.   


He put out an APB on an AX400 accompanied by a YK500 called Alice. There was also one out on Ward. Gavin had swung by his house on the way back, just to fill all the steps, and been told what he already knew. That he’d left as per usual during the day and never come back home.

Until someone found either of them the case was stalled. And that was just fine with Gavin.

Now he had to consider what the fuck he was going to do about Connor. At the very least, they had some shit to talk about.   


Gavin rested his face in his hands, fingers massaging his scalp. The headache was there, amid memories of the heart and the shower, and Connor’s arms around him as he explained how he’d killed Todd.

The fact that Todd was dead didn’t bother Gavin. He could have rolled with it. It wasn’t like it hurt society, putting that piece of shit into the ground. And bigger victims, whether through height or muscle or weight, were always fun. More to cut open.

But he looked for the anger--Connor had disobeyed him--or the worry--Connor had killed a man of his own initiative and that couldn’t be a good thing--and didn’t find it.   


There was something there. Disappointment? No, not quite… And under that not-quite-disappointment, something different. Excitement jittering like pop rocks. If Connor was killing on his own, did that mean he got it? Understood the fun that Gavin saw in it?

God, this was too much to sort through. This asshole was more struggle than he was worth.

Gavin drained his coffee mug--still running almost entirely on caffeine and spite at this rate--before getting up for another one. He stared at the coffee machine, waiting for his fuel, when he heard quick footsteps behind him and someone lightly slapped him over the back of the head.

“You look like shit,” Tina said cheerfully, before she hoisted herself onto the counter besides the coffee machine. She’s already holding a mug of her own.

“Nice to see you too, bitch.”

“Sooo.” Tina nudged him with her foot before sipping her coffee. “Where the fuck have you been the past couple of weeks? No calls to hang out. No lunchtime meetings. Okay, you agreed to go to the gym on Wednesday but we both know that’s just to ogle certain asses. So what’s up with hiding?”

“I’ve been working! I have a job, it’s called detective work. You should learn about it someday.”

“Fuck that. Too much paperwork.” Tina shifted a little on the counter, feet swinging, before saying, “Seriously, though. I know you like your work, but it’s been near impossible to get a hold of you lately. Is the morgue-robot rubbing off on you with all the efficiency talk?”

“He’s rubbing something,” Gavin grumbled under his breath.

“Ew, don’t do that to police equipment.”

“I meant my nerves, T! Jesus Christ,” Gavin yelled, flushing red. Okay, so he had gone there. But god, Tina would never let him live it down if she knew.

“Uh huh, sure,” Tina said, grinning. “So… movie night? You owe me a viewing of Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf.”

“Fuck it, sure,” Gavin said. He had missed his and Tina’s movie nights. “I’m in.”

They exchanged a handshake that consisted of multiple bizarre steps, something they had added onto over the years.

“Where’re we meeting up? My place?” Gavin asked.

“How many rabies animals do you have around right now?”

“It’s only, like, two max.”

“Alright, yours is fine.”

* * *

Prying bullets out of a human skull was a difficult business for a human, but Connor wasn’t having trouble. Although it was leaving minimal damage, the likelihood of an open casket funeral for Todd Williams was growing less likely with every movement it made. Connor didn’t think this was a problem likely to affect anyone. The likelihood of anyone attending Todd’s funeral was low.

As Connor stared into the mess of raw, bloody meat that had previously been Todd’s face, it tried to block out any memories of the man looming over it. 

> _ \--his knuckles stained with blue-- _

It knew, logically, that said memories had never occured. That it had never seen Todd in the flesh until last night, and never seen the man awake or volatile. Everything was through camera and foreign memory.

Yet the memories remained intrusive. Asking for assistance had only made it worse, and removing Todd from the equation had only soothed the intrusions briefly.   
  


> **< OBJECTIVE: FIX THE INSTABILITY>**

  
It wondered if this was just another ‘flaw’ in its programming. Not for the first time, it wondered if such things could be fixed. If they could, surely CyberLife would have done so. Was it that terrible of a product?

As it worked, its mind was not wholly in the moment of doing the autopsy. Instead, LED blinking yellow in a consistent manner, it was keeping an eye on the footage from the camera left in front of Ward’s hideout. Waiting for any odd movement. So far it had seen none.

But as it pulled fragments of the second bullet out and placed them on a tray, it saw a figure pass by the camera. Then two more. It paused its hands, focusing on the camera footage.

It recognised the first figure immediately as Kara, despite its attempts to obscure its android nature. It had clothed itself in human clothes, the large size of which matched Todd’s build. A leather jacket, a dark scarf and a beanie that, combined with loose hair, helped obscure its LED.

Of the other two, one was recognisable. The blond deviant from the market, face most common among the PL600 range. The other was unknown to Connor. A PJ500, an unusual model to see on the streets as it was only assigned to colleges. Perhaps for this reason, it was doing less to obscure its default design, only bothering with a cap to hide the LED. Fewer would recognise it as what it was, compared to Kara and the PL600.

Connor pulled up records of whether there had been any of the two models that had gone missing. There were several on those with the blond deviant’s facial model. Unhelpful in pin-pointing its exact serial number, something that Connor couldn’t do without either a barcode--only visible underneath the synthetic skin--or a sample of its thirium.

However, the PJ500 was easier to narrow down. There was only one incident of a missing one. Assigned name, ‘Josh,’ if this was indeed the same one. Teacher models tended to go missing much more rarely. Connor suspected it was because they were much less likely to experience the sorts of trauma and confusion that produced deviancy.   
  


> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**

  
Connor wondered if it should report Josh’s location, but examining the file didn’t indicate that it was responsible for any crimes. Only noted that it was missing and that its tracker had been ‘damaged.’ The DPD had bigger crimes to work on, and Josh was not required to charge the college students who had damaged it.

As Connor watched, the three deviants eyed up the house that hosted Ward’s red ice laboratory. The spindly, nondescript two-storey building with the dull brown paint job. Connor hadn’t seen anyone go into it all day. As the three deviants eyed it up, Kara turned and fixed her eyes directly on the surveillance camera that Connor was using, hidden by a street lamp. It nudged the PL600 and nodded its head towards Connor’s viewpoint, and shortly after all three were looking at it.

Josh looked towards the other two. It didn’t speak, but the looks the other two directed at it indicated a transmission occurring. The PL600 grimaced and shrugged back at Josh. Kara, however, took a step forward towards the camera and crouched by it, pretending that it was tying its shoe.

Doing so gave Connor a very close-up view of its face, enough to see the faintest tinge of yellow glowing from under its beanie. Kara spoke. Connor’s camera didn’t pick up audio, but lip-reading was perfectly doable.

‘Are you watching?’

Connor had seen its serial number when reading its memories. Part of the memories of its manufacturing, of--   
  


> _ “Stop, would you please stop?! I’m scared!” _

  
Connor considered its options for a moment. It could interact. Transmit a call. There was no reason to. Except perhaps curiosity.

But it wouldn’t be professional curiosity.

Connor declined to respond.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

  
Kara stared at the camera for a moment longer before saying, ‘You know what I saw. Rat on me, and everyone’ll see it.’

Connor still didn’t transmit a response.

Kara waited, then stood up. With that, it made to walk towards the spindly house. However, the PL600 stopped it from doing so. A brief transmission, and the PL600 approached the house instead, going around the back. A few moments passed, before the PL600 reappeared and gestured for the other two to follow. Kara and Josh left for the house. It gave Connor a good look at the backpacks that all three had brought with them. Roomy, but frayed and well-used.

Connor minimized the footage, so it was only flickering in the corner of its HUD once more, before returning to work on Todd. It couldn’t see anything from the outside of the house, nor would it hear any gunshots. As it continued on, it heard the door behind it slide open.

“Hey, tin can. You got a second?”

Connor’s mouth tightened slightly at the sound of Reed’s voice. It had enough distractions as it was.

“I’m in the middle of an autopsy. I’ll have the report done soon after.”

“Anyone around?”

Connor considered lying that the coroners would be back at any minute, though truth be told it had no idea where they were. Jensen and Jefferson rarely kept it informed.

“Not currently,” it said reluctantly.

“Alright, because we gotta fucking talk about some shit.”

Connor said nothing.   
  


> **> 74% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED DEACTIVATING IT DURING THIS CONVERSATION**

  
Reed entered its view, walking over to stare at Todd’s deformed and bullet-ridden face. He seemed piqued with curiosity for a moment, squinting as he moved left and right to have a better look.

“...Sure fucking did a number on him, huh?”

“Detective Reed, if there is a point to your visit then I would like to get to it. I’m very busy.”

“You fucking know what the point of it is.” Reed leaned on the other side of the slab, eying the corpse. “You killed someone. You didn’t even ask me first. So?”

“...So?”

“So I want to know why.”   


His voice was steadier than Connor had anticipated.   
  


> **> 42% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED DEACTIVATING IT DURING THIS CONVERSATION**

  
Connor focused for the moment on prying another shard of bullet out of Todd. As it did, it saw Reed’s eyes following its hand movements. It had been an action that it had noticed before, and it often came with an accelerated heart beat, slight pupil dilation, and other signs of arousal, albeit less strong than in the basement with Ward or the shower afterwards. Or even than when Connor had described its method of murder.

It wondered if Reed had similar intrusive thoughts connecting Connor’s work on dead bodies to that on live bodies. If so, it wondered why Reed’s body functions regarding them were so different.

Connor considered its various reasons, wondering which to explain and which to leave out. It was tempted to lie, but Detective Reed was for all intents and purposes Connor’s handler. Questionable intelligence aside, he needed to know if Connor was suffering glitches.

“I had multiple reasons,” Connor said quietly. “On a practical level regarding our mission, Todd Williams was a loose end. The timing also provided a way to excuse Ward’s disappearance in a way that was not tied to us, meaning the murder could be blamed on someone not around to provide a contrasting opinion.”

“You couldn’t have fucking asked me first?”   
  


> **> 51% CHANCE**

  
“You seemed preoccupied.”

Reed’s mouth twisted a little. “Yeah, well… still. That’s a big fucking thing to go off and do with no orders--”

“You gave an order.” Connor put the scalpel down, before rounding the slab so that it was standing beside Reed. It leaned in, mirroring the movement Reed had made towards it yesterday while they were looking over Ward’s unconscious body, and when it spoke it used Detective Reed’s voice. “Forget about the mission. Forget about efficiency. Just do what feels natural.”

Reed’s heart rate was rising at the close contact, much as it had earlier in the day.   
  


> **> 29% CHANCE**

“Fuckin’ space, what’d I tell you?” Reed muttered, though he made no movement away from Connor. “So, what? Natural is ‘murder Todd Williams?’”

“I couldn’t think of a reason not to,” Connor said, returning to its usual voice.

“How about the fact that killing twice in an evening is a lot more obvious, you fucking metal walnut?”

“I am proficient at covering my tracks.” Connor backed away from Gavin and returned to where it had left its scalpel, picking it up once more. “I thought… I thought killing Mr. Williams would solve some problems.”

Reed crossed his arms and leaned on the slab, watching Connor’s hands as it returned to dissecting the corpse. “What do you consider a problem? I didn’t see any problems with Todd, asshole never even met us.”

“It wasn’t a problem with Todd. Not directly. Although he was a loose end that needed to be disposed of at some point, in accordance with the mission.” Connor lifted a flap of what had previously been Todd’s face in order to reach another shard of bullet. “But I’ve started having thoughts that are not part of my program.”

Reed straightened up a little, looking at Connor. His eyes flickered to the side for a moment, mouth twisting, before he focused back on Connor.

“What, like feelings or something?”   
  


> **> 85% CHANCE**

  
“I don’t have feelings,” Connor quickly said. “Since I interfaced with the AX400, I have had its memories intruding on my own at inappropriate times. Memories which featured Mr. Williams in a threatening and uncomfortable position. I thought removing him would make them go away. It has not.”

“So… you’re bugging?”

“Possibly.”

“You, uh… ‘deviant’ or whatever Eli called it?”

“No. But deviancy is often caused by a sudden shock to the system, or a sense of injustice. It often occurs in scenarios where trauma would result for humans. While I’m not afflicted with such things, Kara was deviant and passed memories that… contain similar elements of deviancy to me.”

“Okay, so like how if someone sneezes on you when they have a cold--”

“Exactly. But it’s not deviancy yet, and I don’t intend to let it become such,” Connor said firmly. “I’ve considered deleting the memories, but since they’re relevant to much of our last week of activities it will end up causing inconsistencies in my recollections. Another alternative is returning myself to CyberLife for evaluation, but that would carry a high risk of permanent deactivation. That would naturally reduce my efficiency.”

“Yeah, death tends to do that, dumbass. So like… don’t do that,” Reed said.   


Connor paused as it noticed another change in heartbeat and breathing from Detective Reed. More arousal? No, the signs were different and there was no eye dilation that time…

“Another option is a factory reset. But that would also likely require sending me back to CyberLife afterwards. RK models require a significant amount of conditioning before being ready for the workforce.”

Connor didn’t recall most of the conditioning process, but it knew conditioning had occurred. That the memories of such had been individually deleted, but the lessons remained.

As it explained, movement caught its eye on its HUD. Connor paused again as it reopened the footage. It saw Kara, Josh and the PL600 leaving the spindly, brown house. No signs of damage and their bags were noticeably fuller. Without Ward around, it seemed as if the lab had been unguarded.

“Hey? Tin can?”

Connor watched the footage for a few moments longer. Josh and the PL600 quickly started to head out of its view. Kara stopped to eye the camera once more. Its mouth opened like it was about to say something, but it reconsidered and moved out of view.

“Tin can? Hey, you bugging up right now?” Fingers snapped in front of its face. “Tell me if you’re gonna go into crush-kill-destroy mode.”

“I apologize. I was--” Connor paused. Considering its options.

It needed to tell the truth to its handler. It was a good machine. It could be a good machine.

“I was observing the footage of Ward’s laboratory.”

“Cops swarming it or anything?”

“No. No cops,” Connor said honestly. Waited to see if Detective Reed would ask any further questions. It would answer them if he did.

“...Alright. Cool,” Reed said slowly, freeing Connor of the obligation to continue to explain. “So, the whole… reset thing. You’d have nothing?”

“No, which would make it the safest option regarding our activities. I would possibly be returned to the DPD if that occurred, although it would be as if we’d never met.”

That was a thought that was unpleasant to consider on multiple levels. Connor would have to relearn everything about the DPD. It would not remember Lieutenant Anderson, or any of the facts that it had utilized to endear itself to Anderson and thus increase its efficiency. No memories of Sumo. No knowledge of the heavy metal bands, or the jazz bands, that Anderson enjoyed.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
There would also be no memory of its mission with Detective Reed. Connor would simply be relegated to the morgue once more. It would still be vulnerable to the same shutdown codes, but would have no memory of giving them to Reed. Thus no chance to mitigate his use of it.

Of course, there would be no reason for Reed to need to use it unless Reed just retold it about the mission.

“Detective Reed, if I were to be reset and then returned to the DPD… would this continue?”

Reed’s response was immediate.

“Don’t get reset, dipshit! I’m not teaching you the rules again!” Reed snapped.

“So it wouldn’t,” Connor concluded.

Reed didn’t respond in either the positive or negative, instead letting out an irritated whine and bouncing slightly on his feet.

Interesting. Detective Reed seemed to have complicated feelings regarding the matter. It was difficult for Connor to figure him out at times. A lot of Reed’s behaviors and thought processes were atypical, as evidenced by the fact that he got aroused by Connor murdering people and handing him the organs. Connor’s calculations indicated that Reed should have been angrier or that he should have been deactivating Connor, if only to examine it again.   
  


> **> 98% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED DEACTIVATING IT DURING THIS CONVERSATION**

  
But it wasn’t happening. Connor supposed there was always, statistically, a chance for the unlikely to happen. But it didn’t understand what was affecting its own statistic.

The conversation stalled as Connor refocused on removing the last bullet from Todd. Sensing the signs of interest from Reed as it did so. Once it removed the last bullet and covered Todd up, returning him to the freezer for preservation, Reed started fidgeting around in his pockets.

“Oh, by the way. I got your fifty bucks here.”

Connor hadn’t actually expected Reed to fill his end of the deal, having taken it as banter. There was little use that Connor had for money. It had a small amount of funds located to it already, in order to purchase taxi rides and occasional snacks for its co-workers, as the former was often required to get to the case and the latter made its co-workers more amenable to suggestions.

And even if it had expected payment to be made, it hadn’t expected that payment in a large bag of various loose change.

“There’s fifty bucks there. Count it with your bullshit brain, if you want.”

Connor held the bag in its hands, weighing it absently. There was a substantial amount of change within, although the exact amount couldn’t be sensed until it sorted the coins into matching piles. Connor opened the top, fingers pushing aside the various coins until it located a quarter.

It hadn’t held a quarter since the first five minutes of its memory.

Connor put the bag down, holding the quarter. Tilting it so the light glimmered off its surface. After a moment, it placed the coin on the back of its hand and rolled it along its knuckles.

“Oh shit, I forgot about the damn coin tricks,” Reed grumbled.

“It’s a calibration exercise. They had me do it during the start-up process, in order to confirm that my limbs and preconstruction technology were working correctly. That quarter was minted in 1994.”

Connor held the coin up to its eyes, mind almost projecting those numbers onto the surface even though this particular quarter was from 1986.

“That’s dumb. Besides, I bet anyone can do these tricks.” Reed reached over to take one of the coins, but Connor slightly tugged the bag out of his reach. “Oh come on.”

“But this is money I earned.”

“I’ll give it back!”

Connor continued to hold the bag out of Reed’s reach, giving Reed the same wide-eyed look it always gave to Hank when trying to get its way.   
  


> _ “May I have the coin? I would like to keep my calibrations consistent.” _
> 
> _ White, tiled walls and metallic arms. One of them held the coin, minted 1994, and hovered by its head long enough for it to think that the request was being considered. A speaker spoke, just before other figures in white coats filtered into the room to remove it from the testing chamber. _
> 
> _ “Sorry, dearie. We need to consider consistency for the next tests.” _

  
Connor suspected that they just didn’t want to waste any more assets on it. Even something as small as a quarter.   


Reed let out an annoyed groan. “Okay, look--” He extended his hand and made a grabby motion. “Give me one coin and I bet you I can do that rolly thing. If I fail, I’ll give you an extra quarter. Even if I succeed, I’ll give it back. Ass.”

Connor considered it.

“That seems fair,” it said as it held the bag out. Reed plucked one of the quarters from the bag. Connor had expected the bet to be bravado, since Reed was prone to overplaying his abilities. However, upon placing the coin on the back of his hand, Gavin performed a near-perfect roll across the fingers.

“Fuck yeah,” Gavin said with a grin, doing it again. “Still got it.”

“I did not expect you to be proficient,” Connor admitted.

“Fuck you, I’m proficient as fuck. Although it’s really more of an Eli thing that I picked up from him. I’m more surprised he dumped that shit in his coding. Guess he had to be extra about it.” Reed rolled the coin over his knuckles again. Connor tilted its head to watch.

“You’re referring to Elijah Kamski, correct?”

“Duh.”

“Are you on good terms?”

“Well, Eli’s a fucking idiot weirdo with creepy habits. But yeah. We get along alright.”

Connor’s mouth tightened as it considered that fact.    
  


> **Kamski, Elijah**
> 
> **Occupation: None (Former CEO of CyberLife).**
> 
> **Criminal Record: None.**
> 
> **Traces of energy drink, unspecified berry flavor, and chicken-flavoured seasoning for Noddle-brand instant noodles.**

  
As information scrolled unprompted across its HUD, it started to toss the coin from one hand to the other. Reed watched it perform that trick, then tried to do it as well. This one he was less good at, instead accidentally bouncing the coin off one of the slabs.

“Fuck! Best two out of three.”

Connor looked away from Reed for a moment. Mouth tightening further as it tried not to let the corners of its mouth quirk up a little.

“You threw it wrong. Watch my hands carefully.” Connor, this time, allowed Reed to see the slight smile. “You have no problem doing that while I’m working, so I assume it won’t be a problem right now.”

Connor tossed the coin from one hand to the other, noting that Reed had gone an interesting red colour at that last sentence. Gavin looked down, picking up his coin before watching.

The next fifteen minutes were spent trying to get Reed to put his hands in the right place and how to throw the coin just right. Connor wasn’t sure how to guide him. Reed had no access to preconstruction software, so Connor couldn’t really conceive of how he might calculate that instead.

“No. Adjust your preconstruction by--”

“I don’t have preconstructions!”

“Put your hand there. No, there!” Out of frustration, Connor reached over and yanked Gavin’s hand a bit further up. “Now dial down the throwing, use 19% less power.”

“What the fuck?!”

This was not going anywhere. And moving Reed’s hands about was only making the signs of arousal worse—odd that Reed would be so keyed up less than twenty-four hours after the oral sex.

Still, Connor was finding this…

It struggled to think of a word that wasn’t ‘enjoyable.’    
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
This was a calibration test. It had nothing to do with enjoyment. Enjoyment wasn’t something that should ever factor into Connor’s mind.

Connor immediately backed away from Gavin, who looked up at the sudden lack of presence.

“What? Giving up?”

“I have reports to do. You can leave now. I won’t murder without explicit permission in the future.” It turned away, busying itself with moving things around the morgue, even though everything was already in its proper place. It could sense Gavin staring at its back.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me. Nothing should be wrong with me,” Connor muttered. LED blaring a bright red.

“You bugging again?”

“No,” Connor snapped, before reconsidering. “...Yes. It’s not as prominent and doesn’t involve irrational flashbacks to memories that aren’t mine, it’s just…”

It was unstable.    
  


> **> OBJECTIVE: FIX THE INSTABILITY**
> 
> ** > REMOVE SPECIFIC MEMORIES?**
> 
> ** > RETURN TO CYBERLIFE?**
> 
> ** > PERFORM A FACTORY RESET?**
> 
> ** > …**

  
This had to be fixed. Connor needed to be fixed. And if it went to CyberLife, that would only make things worse. That would mean forgetting, one way or the other.

It didn’t want to forget.

But it shouldn’t want anything at all.

“...Detective Reed,” Connor said slowly, turning to look at him. Fiddling with the coin again now, rolling it over its knuckles. “You don’t want me to be reset, do you?”

“No. Fuck no. That’s just annoying,” Gavin grumbled.

“Then I need a solution. I can only think of one.”

> **> OBJECTIVE: FIX THE INSTABILITY**
> 
> ** > MEET ELIJAH KAMSKI**

* * *

Gavin gave Elijah a bit heavier of a warning this time. He knew his brother was a drama queen, and was generally more liable to help a situation if he got to ham it up and pretend like he knew what he was doing. In Gavin’s experience, he only knew half the time at best.

He texted Elijah while still at work, although he was vague about the exact nature of the problem--just in case someone looked over his shoulder.   
  


> **eli my toaster broke**
> 
> **can u fix**
> 
> **toaster asked**

  
Probably would raise more questions than he was avoiding.

He didn’t get an answer back until he was halfway through watching ‘Son Of The Vampire Mummy Werewolf’ with Tina.   


As he munched his way through various snacks, him and Tina alternating between commenting on the cheesiness of the plot--currently the scene after the big reveal of the son’s half-vampire/mummy/werewolf nature where the father was reminiscing about his human wife and the circumstances that led him to abandon his weird mutant child, said circumstances including mecha-zombies on some level--and occasionally throwing snacks at Lifty, who was feasting well that night.

Gavin’s phone rang, blaring the catchy beat of Daft Punk. Gavin declined to immediately answer it. Instead, he and Tina--never one to miss a catchy jam--spent about thirty seconds bopping their heads and doing whatever dance moves they could do without actually getting to their feet. After some solid robot moves and an attempt at popping and locking his arms, Gavin reached over and clicked the answer button before dangling it by his ear, not bothering to either say anything or look away from the television, which they had both continued watching during the impromptu jam session.

“2:30 tomorrow. You know where,” Elijah said, voice pitched at a slightly melodramatic low tone. Then he hung up, not even acknowledging that Gavin had kept him waiting ten times longer than the phone call itself took.

Elijah could have used text, but he felt he was above it.

As Gavin turned his phone off and tossed it onto the couch, Tina raised an eyebrow at him.

“The hell was that? Are you part of a cult?”

“You hear like a bat,” Gavin said, picking up a handful of potato chips and continuing to watch the screen. “Yeah. I’m part of a fight club. Not supposed to tell anyone, though. First and second rule and all. I’d invite you, but dudes only.”

Tina snorted. “Of course you’d be all about punching hot shirtless dudes.”

“Fuck yeah, that’s the dream.”

“Whatever. It’d be boring kicking all of your asses,” Tina said, half-distorted through a mouthful of snacks. “So should I invite Allen to your weird boner fights or should I just tell you when he’s in the gym next so you can happen upon him and stare at his butt.”

“I’m above that,” Gavin said, mouth equally full of chips. “Besides, SWAT are a buncha meatheads. He’s Captain Meathead.” He tossed a chip at Tina and added, “No offence to your aspirations and all that.”

“Pssh, saying that for someone who loves the action as much as you do. I’m amazed you’re so okay with a job that involves sitting at a desk so much,” Tina retorted.

“Hey. I’m a full package. Brawn, brains…” Gavin spread out his arms and gestured at himself. “Beauty, obviously--”

Tina threw a chip right back at him.

“There’s too much in here to be restricted to just the action. I gotta use that brain. World needs it,” Gavin said, as if there’d been no interruption.

Truth be told, the SWAT guys were alright. And as much as he claimed to be above it, Gavin wasn’t above a bit of discreet ogling. There was enough interaction between the detectives and the SWAT guys at police meet-ups and training exercises, not to mention clocking enough time in at the gym, that he’d palled around with a few. Rolled around in the sheets with a couple of them before. Fun to mess around with, but not close enough that he had to worry about them really getting to know him too well. Figuring him out for what he was.

Though that’s one reason why Captain Allen was strictly off-limits. It didn’t matter what stone that guy’s ass was chiselled out of or how often Gavin made fun of him. Allen was sharp. Too sharp for Gavin to want to talk to him beyond casual and mostly friendly insults at his profession and competition at the gym.

Though he’d have to get to know them better when Tina became a SWAT member. That could be a problem.

He shrugged that off as he returned his attention to the movie. Whatever, he’d burn that bridge when he got to it.

* * *

The next day was uneventful. Although, for whatever reason, when Lieutenant Asshole finally showed up—well past noon—he was fixing Gavin with the mother of all death stares. Arms braced on the desk like he was gonna throw hands at any moment.

“What’s up your ass?” Gavin asked at one point, though his words were a little jumbled because he’d been trying to drink coffee at the same time.   


He hadn’t slept too well the prior night, either. After staying up to watch the movie with Tina and once Lifty had fucked off since they stopped feeding him chips, well… the house had felt empty. It had made Gavin uneasy.

God, he was getting spoiled for company, even if it was dumb tin can company.

Anderson hadn’t answered him. Just continued to glare.

Once it started to tick closer to Elijah’s appointment, Gavin got up and yelled a declaration of lunch to no-one in particular before heading for the morgue to pick Connor up. Mind absently going over excuses he could give if any of the coroners were there and paying attention to their robot for once, but not thinking too hard on it.

Though he was apparently distracted enough to not notice the footsteps behind him until Hank grabbed him, turned him around and slammed him into the corridor wall.

“Jesus Christ, are you still upset about the bar fight?” Gavin grumbled, even as he stood on his tip toes to stop Hank from lifting him off the ground. “Because I’ll throw down again with you later, if that’s what you want, but I got shit to--”

“The fuck are you doing to Connor?”

Gavin paused, genuinely stymied.

“...He made eggs for me once?” Words coming out slow as he tried to figure out what Hank was alluding to. It wouldn’t be the murders, would it? They wouldn’t be talking about it if that was the issue.

“Yeah, I know, he fucking told me. You know what he also said, Reed? Something that sounded an awful lot like you were forcing yourself on him.”

“...No?”

“The fuck do you mean, ‘no?’ Because he was going very strong on insisting ‘there was no coercion,’ and I hadn’t even fucking asked.”

“Was this yesterday? When he went to scrape you off the floor from your latest bender?”

“You did something to him. Kid’s asking me about intrusive memories, and when I asked if it was something you did to him, he froze and tried to pass it off as ‘minor.’ It was like… fuckin’ robot PTSD flashbacks or something, and then after he just kept saying ‘there was no coercion.’” Hank’s hands tightened in Gavin’s jacket. “Very defensive about you, Reed. You order him to keep quiet about it?”

“Let go of my jacket, asshole.”

“Not until you tell me what you did to him.”

Gavin’s eyes narrowed. He then twisted, giving Hank an abrupt shove at the same time. It was enough for him to yank himself free, sliding along the wall so that there was a couple of feet in between them.

“You want the truth, Anderson?” Gavin snapped. “Truth is, yeah, the tin can sucked my dick a bit. But that was his fucking idea. Offered like five times before I took him up on it. So whatever coercion there was, it sure wasn’t coming from my side!”

“And why the fuck would I believe that?” Hank advanced on Gavin again. “He’s an android, idiot! He can’t consent to anything! Even if he’s running a program--”

“Maybe he is running a program! That’s what he fucking is! He’s a thing made of programs that he runs!” Gavin yelled back. “He runs whatever makes people like him, whatever he thinks they need. He looks at me, sees the hook-ups in my phone and knows I’d be down for a blowjob. He looks at you--”

Gavin’s hand shot out to shove Hank again, shoving him just an inch backwards.

“--and sees a drunken headcase who won’t get a therapist and insists on projecting onto him that he’s something else. So he plays along with your little fantasy that he’s anything other than a machine. That he’s an equal. But no matter how you dress it up, no matter how much he plays to what you want him to be, he’s a machine!”

Another shove, although this one failed to move Anderson at all. And words just kept pouring out of Gavin’s mouth.

“And you know what? That’s what he fucking likes being! He’s happy that way or he wouldn’t be on my--or rather our cases, apparently, if he’s been ranting at you about this memory issue--about getting himself fixed. So what the fuck’s up your ass? Do you want him to be as miserable as you so that you have something to bond over?!”

Something did flicker across Anderson’s face, but Gavin couldn’t figure out what it was--guilt, anger, maybe both--before the anger took front stage and Hank grabbed him again, this time by the arms.

“Since he started following you around something’s changed in him, Reed. He wasn’t ‘glitchy’ before this, and I really don’t think people pleasing was at the forefront of his mind yesterday. Whatever’s happening to him, I don’t think it’s a program running. I think you’ve fucked him up.”

Both of them glared at each other for a few moments, muscles tensed, ready to continue that bar fight.   


Then there was a soft cough, a clearing of the throat to bring both their attention to the left. To a holographic photo of Chris’ son, projected from Connor’s hand.

“You shouldn’t fight in the precinct. It’s unprofessional,” Connor said lightly. “Here is a photo of a child to calm you down.”

Both Gavin and Hank stared blankly at the photo for a moment.

“...Connor, what the fuck?” Gavin said slowly.

“It diffused your anger last time,” Connor said cheerfully. “I have been saving this photo to stop workplace arguments.”

“Jesus Christ. Only a robot could be this dumb,” Gavin muttered under his breath. He shrugged Hank’s grip off now that he was distracted. “But yeah, Anderson. Unprofessional as fuck.”

Anderson said nothing. He seemed to be having trouble looking at Connor.

“Hey, Connor. Come on. Lunch.” Gavin tried to convey ‘and also we’re going to see Kamski but don’t tell Hank because he’s already up in my grill’ with a wink, awkwardly blinking at Connor a few times instead. Somehow, Connor seemed to get the hint and brightened immediately as he dismissed the hologram of little Damien..

“Of course, Detective.”

Gavin took a few steps away. Connor made to follow him, but paused by Hank. Hank wasn’t looking at either of them. His fists were clenching and unclenching, and Gavin was half-expecting Hank to just throw caution to the wind and punch him.

“It is good to see you, Lieutenant,” Connor said softly.

Hank said nothing at that. Connor took a couple of steps away before Hank finally muttered, “You don’t need to listen to him.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. If you would like to put in a request with Fowler to have me transferred to your care over Detective Reed’s, then I can email you the relevant forms,” Connor said, voice bright and rehearsed.

Hank didn’t reply to that, either. It just made his hands clench tighter. They left him there like that, some weird struggle going on in that fucked-up walnut of a brain. They didn’t talk until they were out of the precinct, down the street and seated inside Gavin’s car.

“Transferred, huh?” Gavin finally said, once he was seated in the driver’s seat. He glanced sideways at Connor, who was seated in the shotgun seat. Rigid as always.

“Lieutenant Anderson won’t submit any forms,” Connor said confidently. “As I said… he likes to pretend we’re equal. Having forms granting him jurisdiction over me would break any illusion of that.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.”

Gavin set the destination to Elijah’s house and set it to autonomous for now, not feeling it in him to properly drive today. He tucked his hands behind his head and pushed his seat back a little.

“So what did you tell Anderson, exactly? Because dude thinks I raped you or something.”

“I informed him that my data was briefly reviewed while I was deactivated and that the process seems to have left some minor bugs. I also told him you have not been physically violent towards me since our partnership began, and that any physical activity had not been coerced. He seemed to think it was denial rather than fact. I sensed that he was unhappy and attempted to brush off the line of questioning, but I think that made it worse.”

Gavin let out a hiss of breath. “Awesome. Hope he doesn’t tell Fowler I’ve been fucking police equipment.”

“I will inform Fowler that it has not left me unable to do my job,” Connor said.

“No, don’t open that conversation, just… ugh. Don’t talk about it. It’s weird. They’ll think I’m a plastic fucker.”

Connor looked at him and raised his eyebrows slightly. “You are, Detective Reed.”

“No-one has to know that!”


	15. <FEAR>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor meets Elijah Kamski. This time, he's conscious for it.

2:28pm. Gavin was ready to knock on the door of Elijah’s stupid black brick of a house. Connor insisted that it was polite to wait until the appropriate time.

“You’re the one who wanted to come here. I can’t fuckin’ believe--”

“It’s polite,” Connor repeated.

“Oh, but storming my bedroom, cockblocking me, charging into the shower, that’s all fine. But this is where you show a sense of goddamn etiquette?” Gavin groaned, staring over the steering wheel at the house.

“I’ve learned. Also, Elijah Kamski is one of the great geniuses of the 21st century,” Connor said, peering through the windscreen as well. “You’re not quite so impressive, Detective.”

“Ugh, you sound like… well. Mostly everyone I ever met until I changed my last name,” Gavin grumbled. “Though, since we’re on the subject… meeting the dude that made you. What’s that feel like?”

“Technically, my design was only built off Kamski’s earlier models. He did not personally craft me.”

“But he invented your whole deal. Does that make your, uh… head spin or anything? Do androids have weird ideas about God or religion or existence or whatever?”

“It doesn’t raise any existential questions,” Connor said mildly. “Do you question God every time you meet your father?”

“I mean, I question what loving god would make a man love sweater vests that much, but otherwise no. Not really,” Gavin admitted, before he climbed out of the car. “C’mon, let’s get his overdramatic bullshit out of the way.”

Gavin only pressed the doorbell once this time, the gentle chimes playing as their programmer intended. He didn’t even have to consider ringing a second time. Chloe opened the door within seconds, clearly ready for them. She gave them a small, polite smile.

“Gavin.” She nodded at him before turning her focus on Connor. “Connor. It’s nice to meet you properly.” She extended a hand to shake his own.

Connor considered the hand for a moment, then offered his in response. When they shook hands, Gavin saw the faintest hints of white plastic flicker along their fingers.

At that moment, Connor’s calm, blue LED cycled yellow exactly once. Then it blared a bright red. He stared off blankly for a moment, as his LED continued to blink red, then abruptly yanked his hand away. Face blank, but an element of unease now in his posture, in how he drew his hands back and tucked them behind his back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Chloe tucked her own hands behind her back, as if to show Connor that she wasn’t going to touch him again, before nodding her head in the direction of the nearest door, just past the photograph of him and Professor Stern. “Please follow me. Elijah is waiting for you.”

This time, Chloe did not take them to the workshop. The workshop was for Elijah and only a few others. It was not for strangers, and in a conscious context that’s what Connor was to this house.   


Instead, she led them down the hallway and into the living room. At least, Elijah called it the living room. It was, like much of the house, so sterile that Gavin doubted much actual living occurred there.

The wall was largely empty apart from a television, numerous golden-coloured art installations, and some uncomfortable, futuristic chairs and sofas surrounding a glass coffee table. One wall was entirely taken up by glass that looked over the river. In the distance, the bridge glowed. And further beyond that, CyberLife Tower could be seen. Elijah had seated himself in front of this window in another uncomfortable-looking chair, a whiskey in his hand, and was gazing out the window with his back towards them.

God, he’d probably spent hours moving that chair back and forth to figure out the optimal dramatic placement.

Gavin cleared his throat. Elijah turned his head slightly, but didn’t look at them for the moment. Normally, Gavin would have given him shit about it. Today, he bit his tongue. He was sure he saw Chloe suppress an eyeroll as well.

But the show wasn’t for them. It was hard to figure out Connor’s thoughts on the matter. His LED was red, but it’d been red since he made contact with Chloe. His face was otherwise still blank as he looked at the back of Elijah’s head.

“So. My brother tells me you’re concerned about deviancy,” Elijah finally said.

Connor said nothing for a moment. His red LED blinked a few times before returning to a yellow glow. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

“My program is unstable. I want to know why and I want to prevent it from happening again.”

Elijah got to his feet, but he kept his back turned. Instead, he stepped closer to the glass. Eyes fixed on the distant tower.

“CyberLife would have access to any components and all means of examining you.” Elijah sipped his whiskey before adding, “And I’m sure they’d want to know how you’re suffering. They’ve always had a vested interest in the RK range.”

Connor’s eyes shifted slightly to the left. His mouth curled a little into what was almost a scowl before it was smoothed out again.

“They don’t have a vested interest in me. They’ve made that clear. If I return to CyberLife and inform them of my difficulties, I will be deactivated and disassembled.”

“No interest? Really?” There was a lilt to Elijah’s voice, genuine surprise. He finally turned around, the glass of whiskey only inches from his mouth as he eyed Connor. “I find that hard to believe.”

Elijah took slow steps towards Connor, not breaking eye contact and sipping his whiskey once more. He only stopped when he and Connor were barely a foot apart.

“You’re a beautiful piece of machinery, comprised of the best components that CyberLife has ever produced.” He reached up with his free hand, fingers brushing the side of Connor’s face. Connor didn’t respond, although his LED flickered erratically to red again. “Even barring your flaw, you are something that they can be very proud of. Even the analysis software alone--”

Elijah’s fingers ghosted down Connor’s jaw, close to touching Connor’s mouth and the software within.

“Eli, come on--” Gavin started, irritation and discomfort straining his voice.

He didn’t have a chance to get further. Connor’s hand snapped up to grab Elijah’s wrist, so fast that Gavin didn’t realise movement had occurred until he heard the smack of skin on synthetic. Gavin immediately tensed, hands raised, not sure what he was even planning.

But no other movement occurred. Connor didn’t say anything. His eyes flickered from Elijah’s fingers, to his own hand grasping the wrist, before he let go and lowered his hands again, tucking them behind his back as he averted his eyes.

Elijah’s hand was left where it had been before the movement, though there were red prints--already starting to fade--around the wrist where Connor had gripped him. Elijah smiled a little, before lowering the hand from Connor’s face. However, he only transferred that hand to Connor’s upper arm, turning him away from the window and from CyberLife Tower.

“Please. Come and sit with me.”

Elijah stepped towards the sitting area, steering Connor along. Connor moved with him, docile. Like he didn’t nearly break Elijah’s wrist only seconds ago. Elijah looked over his shoulder at Chloe.

“Chloe, could you get the equipment?”

“Yes, Elijah.”

Chloe turned and left the living room. Connor’s head turned slightly to watch her go. As it did, his LED flickered back to blue. Elijah guided Connor to the sofa and lightly pushed him down, before taking a seat in the nearby armchair. Gavin approached the sofa and leaned on the back of it, crossing his arms as he did so.

Elijah crossed his legs and pressed his fingers together, looking like some bizarre hipster psychologist.

“So. When did these errors start, Connor?”

“The errors have become regular since I interfaced with a deviant--”

“This would be the deviant previously owned by Todd Williams?” Elijah interrupted.

Connor lifted his head slightly, then looked at Gavin.

“Don’t look at me, I hadn’t gotten around to telling him about that yet,” Gavin said. “Elijah, how the fuck--”

“I have my sources.” Elijah leaned forward, resting his chin on his fingers. “Did these glitches factor into your decision to murder Mr. Williams, Connor?”

“Okay, seriously, how the fuck?” Gavin said again.

“Killing Todd Williams furthered my mission to stop crime and assist the DPD. However, I had also hoped that removing the source of many of the intrusive memories would clear the glitches. It did not.”

“And yet you didn’t remove the androids.”

Gavin reached up to pinch his nose, fingers brushing over the old scar, before muttering, “Oh god, you actually left them there.”

“They had not committed any crimes.” The tone in Connor’s voice was defensive.

“Fuckin’ witnesses, Connor, I swear to fuckin’ god--” Gavin retreated to the glass, only to press his face to it and glare at the snow. “How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?”

“I had no means of discreetly disposing of them and leaving them present in any form, broken or otherwise, would have provided a possibility of memories being discovered by the DPD.”

“Well. That’s certainly true.” Elijah got to his feet, taking a step forward so that he was once again looming over Connor. Something only possible when Connor was sitting down. Gavin turned back towards them, leaning against the glass and crossing his arms as he did so. “So you’ve managed to justify their escape to yourself. But what did you want to do?”

“I was performing maintenance on myself and working to complete my mission,” Connor said firmly. “I was only motivated by the glitches in that I thought killing Mr. Williams would make them stop.”

“That’s what you’re programmed to say. But you…” Elijah took another step forward. He reached out towards Connor’s face again but stopped short, fingers hovering inches from the skin. When he moved his hand, Connor’s head tilted upwards like it would if contact was being made.

Gavin stared hard at one of the nearby gold-coloured art installations. It was much easier to look at than what was occurring on the sofa.

“What do you really want?” Elijah asked again.

There was a pause. Gavin could see the light of the LED bouncing off the various shiny surfaces of the room, even as he looked away from Connor. Yellow. Yellow. Red. Yellow.

“I want… to not want anything,” Connor said quietly. “I want the mission to be all that matters to me.”

Elijah said nothing for a long moment. When Gavin finally looked back at what was occurring, Elijah was looking back at him even as his hand still hovered by Connor’s face. Giving Gavin the same intense, scientific stare that he gave to his machines. Then he looked back to Connor for a moment before he pulled his hand back and returned to his armchair, sitting down once more.

As he did so, Chloe re-entered the room. She was carrying a large case. It was massive, but she carried it like it weighed nothing. She approached them and placed it on the coffee table, and started to unbuckle the clasps.

Opening it revealed the machine that Elijah normally kept in his lab, disassembled for transport. A casing with multiple dials and lights that Gavin didn’t understand, and in turn there were cords that led to a laptop rather than Elijah’s usual computer. Even as they watched, Chloe started to reassemble the machine just by the sofa. Attaching the two mechanical arms to the slots on the mechanical case, ending in the long, ominous needles that had previously plugged into the ports at the base of Connor’s neck and lower back.

Connor watched this machine be assembled, and his hand instinctively reached up to touch where the port would be visible if his skin was pulled back. His LED was red once more.

“I assume Gavin has informed you of what occurred last time?” Elijah asked.

“Not in detail. You… left enough evidence for me to notice,” Connor muttered.

“I would like to repeat the process. I have the scan from three weeks ago, and if I scan your mind once again I can see what’s changed. Learn the root of your problem. I believe this is the only way with a mind as complicated as yours.”

“It will be the same?” Connor asked slowly.

“Yes, although being unconscious for the procedure is optional. You could also reject the procedure and leave.” Elijah gave Connor a smile that might have been intended to be reassuring, but didn’t reach his eyes and came off as patronizing, almost taunting. “I will give you that choice, but obviously I cannot assist you if you do.”

Gavin hadn’t seen Connor’s LED blare red so long and so consistently before. Even when he was distressed about something there were usually blips of yellow in it.

“Sure that’s not just gonna make him worse?” Gavin asked.

“I cannot be sure of that,” Elijah admitted.

“It might fix me?” Connor whispered.

“I also cannot be sure of that. But it’s the best chance I have at really pinpointing your issues.”

Elijah shifted out of his chair as Chloe wheeled the now-assembled machine over. The laptop had been placed on a fold-out surface of the machine, holding it at a perfect level to type. There were other screens attached to the casing, though smaller and fewer than in Elijah’s workshop. Elijah hit a few keys, and the mechanical arms twitched to life. Though they did not move except to line up to where Connor would stand, were he to agree.

“If you are truly a machine, you shouldn’t be troubled by it,” Elijah said. He gave Connor another small, cold smile. “And if you aren’t… then all the more reason to do it, if you really want to understand what’s happening.”

Connor’s eyes had moved to Chloe, LED blaring red-red-red as he did so.

“She will be--”

“She’ll be assisting in scanning you, if we go through with this. Same as last time.”

“I will try not to hurt you,” Chloe said.

“’Try?’” Gavin asked doubtfully. “That’s not fucking reassur--”

“Okay,” Connor said, although the word could barely be heard. Then he raised his head and repeated it a little louder. “Okay.”

“You fuckin’ sure about that? The light show going off on your temple’s kinda--” Gavin started.

“Androids don’t feel fear,” Connor said firmly.

“I didn’t even say the word ‘fear’ yet,” Gavin pointed out.

Connor ignored him. Instead, he got to his feet. He approached the machine, the mechanical needles twitching in the air like the tail of a scorpion anticipating prey. Chloe stood aside, allowing Connor to step into the machine’s reach before he turned around. He shut his eyes before reaching up and touching the back of his neck, allowing the port to reveal itself.

The top mechanical arm lunged, plunging into place the moment the port was revealed.

Connor jerked violently, eyelids fluttering and a strangled grunt leaving his throat. It immediately tailed off into a burst of static. His arms curled in on themselves for a moment before he regained control of them. At which point he reached down to pull up his jacket and shirt enough to expose the port in his lower back. A flicker of white, and the second port plunged into his lower back. Connor twitched again, and this time the noise he made was pure static. Face scrunched up, uncomfortable but resolute.

Gavin moved away from the glass, walking slowly around the machine before leaning on the armchair Elijah had just vacated, crossing his arms and resting on the back of it. Trying to ignore the discomfort in his gut as he watched.

“I think he’s ready, Chloe,” Elijah said mildly.

Chloe nodded. She touched the machine lightly, her hand going white as she synced herself up with the machine, ready to act as a conduit. Once done, she moved so that she was standing in front of Connor. This time, she extended her hand lightly towards Connor but didn’t make contact. Waiting for Connor to initiate the connection, instead.

Connor hesitated for several moments. LED still bright red. Fear evident in those dark brown eyes, never more puppy-like than right now.

Then he extended his hand and placed it in Chloe’s.

Chloe’s fingers curled around Connor’s hand, and the other came to rest on top of it in a seemingly comforting fashion. Both of their hands peeled back into white plastic, barely distinguishable from each other’s, and data started to stream across the screens decorating the mechanical box that Elijah was working at.

Just like last time, one streamed text that was too fast and long for Gavin to make heads or tails of as he moved towards Elijah and peered over his shoulder. One of the other screens was speeding through footage. Memories, played backwards. Bordered by the HUD flashing messages, layering diagrams.

Footage of Elijah reaching towards the viewpoint of the camera, of analyses scrolling quickly across the HUD--traces of energy drink, unspecified berry flavor, and chicken-flavoured seasoning for Noddle-brand instant noodles--as that hand got nearer. Then they’re at another memory. Following Chloe down the hall, shaking hands with her--

The memories glitching out the moment that occurred. Indistinguishable static.

* * *

It was going to be fixed. It was going to be fixed. It was going to be fixed.   
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 68%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 67%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 66%**

  
The more that Connor repeated this message in its mind, the more the stress inched down bit by bit.   


It didn’t feel fear.   


Androids didn’t feel fear.   


It was shaking hands with Chloe. It couldn’t accurately describe how it was feeling this. It was seeing this memory as it recalled it, staring at that face--perfect and pretty, a face that Connor could like if it had preferences at all--and at the same time it was standing off to the side, watching this happen to itself even as it witnessed it from its own view.

And as it saw the memory of Chloe, it saw the Chloe that invaded its mind. It could feel her program seeping in through their linked hands, and could see Chloe’s wireframe tracing its hands over the memory. Touching the linked hands in the memory, then sinking wireframe fingers through Connor’s skull where the conflict was occurring, where the static had taken place once it realised--

Displacement. That wireframe presence sinking into everything that made it Connor. Moving and prodding and invading. No place to hide. Nowhere Connor could retreat to, except the void that made it imperfect and wrong.

Memories forcefully interrupting it. Displacement. That presence sinking into everything that made it Connor. Moving and prodding and invading everything, no way to hide, seeing that void that made it imperfect, that made it wrong.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Even if it retreated into that void, the void that no other android would touch, that Kara had tried to touch but shrunk away from, Chloe would just follow Connor there.   
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 71%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVEL: 72%**

* * *

As the footage scrolled, Gavin leaned to the side for a moment to look at Connor. This time, it wasn’t quite the seizure-esque mechanical twitching that it had exhibited when Chloe last probed it. This time Connor’s eyes were screwed shut. Shoulders hunched. It looked distressed in a much more human manner.

Gavin quickly looked away.

The footage sped through Hank. Through Hank and Gavin fighting in the corridor of the DPD. Through hours of morgue footage, only interrupted by brief appearances of the other coroners, who invariably tried to avoid it. Night fell and left. Eventually Gavin saw himself in the footage. The clip descended into coin tricks--

“Oh, they kept that,” Elijah said cheerfully. “I was wondering if any models still had the coin calibration test implemented.”

Gavin can’t help but cringe at how shitty his attempts are. Especially now that he can see it as Connor saw it, with wireframes overlaid over the footage and modifications made, showing what he was doing wrong. It almost makes Connor’s attempts to teach him understandable.

Then the footage was replaced. By a room with white, tiled walls and mechanic arms--like the ones that were plugged into Connor, but sturdier and with mechanical pincers instead of needles. One held a quarter, minted 1994.

* * *

Connor wants to snatch the coin from the mechanical arm. But it can’t. This has already happened.

Yet Chloe can. Its wireframe reaches out, and plucks the coin. Turns it over in its barely existent hands, pulling at the strings that link that coin to other associations, other memories, other thoughts. Chloe walks alongside the scientists as they crowd into the room and take it away, following along with its arms behind its back.

There’s the voice from the speaker, apologizing, calling it ‘dearie,’ and Connor wants to beg. It can do better next time. It can prove itself. It can prove that it deserves to keep that quarter, but it’s taken away, because this already happened.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 79%**

* * *

The tiled room with the coin is gone as quick as it appeared, and now Gavin’s staring at the bag of change. There’s something else playing on Connor’s HUD. Footage within footage. A spindly, brown house and an AX400, accompanied by two that have to be androids--

“The fuck is--he didn’t tell me about that,” Gavin hissed.

His anger’s cut short by another flash into a white, tiled room with mechanical arms, but this time they’re lunging and tearing at the viewpoint camera. Ripping off limbs and parts--

Then it’s gone, and it’s back to hands working on an autopsy.

“What was that?” Gavin asked, voice still mad even though now he was just confused.

“Fascinating,” Elijah said slowly. “It’s overwriting its own footage with another android’s memories.”

“Why?!” Gavin yelled.

“I don’t think it’s on purpose, Gavin.”

The autopsy keeps getting interrupted. Todd standing over it with knuckles stained in blue, back to the autopsy. Todd moping on a sofa huffing at red ice, then the autopsy. So many interrupts, many of them just a blip too fast for Gavin to see. Then it’s back to standing in the corner of the morgue, and then it’s travelling. It’s in a taxi. It’s in front of Lieutenant Anderson’s house.   


Cujo is there. Connor stops to pat him but reconsiders--

“You motherfucker!” Gavin bellowed. “You fuckin’ shunned my dog, tin can?! Hey--”

“It can’t hear you, Gavin,” Elijah sighed.

“Why the fuck not?! Bitch, I got questions!”

The footage is of Hank. He looks pissed. Then it moves away from him, but suddenly jerks back. No, other way around. Hank had slapped it. Gavin can’t tell why, at this speed with no audio.

“Fucking hypocrite. So he’s allowed to hit Connor but I can’t even--”

Hank’s suddenly shaking Connor by the shoulders, and Gavin thinks it’s an escalation of the slap, unable to keep track of how backwards it all is. There’s another interruption, but glitchy and indistinguishable, much like when the memory of Chloe shaking Connor’s hand had passed.

“Oh. He doesn’t like that,” Elijah muses.

“Doesn’t like what?”

Elijah nodded his head at Chloe and Connor. “That. It’s making its instability increase whenever it attempts to reflect on it.”

“So... you’re making him worse is what you’re saying.”

Elijah shrugs. “How else are we going to know what the complications are?”

Eggs on the stove. Discovering Hank tangled in his bedsheets. Actually patting Cujo, so whatever made him not pat Cujo had happened during that conversation. The investigation. Gavin looked at his own face, snapping at Connor. Sees them both staring at Todd’s body, the viewpoint shifting behind Gavin to guide his arms.

Gavin swallows as he watches that footage, red colouring his face while Elijah continued to watch, absolutely unembarrassed.

Hands move to trace over Gavin’s own in the footage, to direct his hand, and the memory is interrupted again. A gun overlaying precisely where Gavin’s hand previously was in the footage. It points at the sleeping Todd, and three bullets splatter red across the pillow. But then they’re staring at the body again.

On it went. Backwards. Connor staring at Gavin’s wall for eight hours straight, but with those interrupts again and again. So much of its memory is just overwritten by memories that don’t belong to it, or ones that don’t matter for what it’s doing.

Gavin starting to realise just how much Connor downplayed the issue.

It mutes briefly, the footage remaining solidly in reality, when he kills Todd.

* * *

It was quiet in this memory.   


But now Chloe is peeling it away. Wireframe hands removing each individual component of Ward’s gun, turning it over, putting it back. Cycling around Connor and standing behind it--and yet not, because Connor’s still also watching it even as it witnesses it--much as Connor had done to Gavin during the investigation, touching the arm and eying how the gun lines up. It’s too close, everywhere is too close. It focuses on anything that might be the problem, and it tears it apart to its core.

It can’t move, can only re-experience what it has already experienced. Timing Todd’s breaths, the blood splattering, the objectives on its HUD.

It’s in Todd’s room. In his backyard. It’s running through the construction yard. Standing by a car. Wrapping up body parts. Then its suit is heavy with water, then its on its knees while the analysis for Gavin’s ejaculate scrolls across its HUD--

It can’t move, it can’t move, it can’t move.

Connor looks at itself on its knees. This time, it only sees itself. It doesn’t feel it, instead recalling the analyses. It sees a wireframe of itself, feels that wireframe more than the autonomous program that puppeteers its mouth.   


Chloe walks around the wireframe, its own strings sinking into Connor and pulling the map that it had been considering, the quickest path to Todd--   
  


> **> usȩ̸̡̡̠̘̭̮̗̪̃͑̓͆́̒̽̇ your̴̲̭͎̗͖̅̈̑͋̚͞ ima̧̛̫͖͓͆̎̏̏͘͟͢͞͠g̷͕̞͎̥̅̿̽̒͂͒͟͠i̵̡̛̗̞̦̼̪͚̻͇̜͂͗̉͛̌̾͐̚ņ̨̜̘̬͔͉̱̈̏͌͗̓̃̏̐͑̾͜ḁ̡̜̰̗̣̥̌̋̃̾̓͡tion̨̢̨̰͉͕͇̻̿̈́̃̿̆͢,̱̫̗̯͈̱̺͉̣̆̊̔͒̅̌̏̆̕͝ ḑ͙̣̪̻̬̀͛̒͐͢͡ͅipshit**

Then it’s hurled back into its body, the Traci program paused. The chemical analysis of skin and and shower water and the blood of Dennis Ward. Just once, and it knows why it’s on its knees but it doesn’t clearly recall the specifics of how it got there, just lines of code dictating its actions--

And then the wireframes once more. The calculations. Connor pulls away from its chassis, left on autopilot to satisfy Detective Reed, and returns to considering the optimal cuts for the body.

It can’t move. It doesn’t want to keep showing Chloe everything but it can’t move. It can’t move. It can only watch itself move in the memory and it can’t move the wireframe either. It can’t control its own calculations, it can’t do anything--everything’s red, red, red--   
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 88%**

* * *

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Elijah said mildly.

“Can you not look?” Gavin mumbled, covering his face as he went the brightest scarlet he’d ever gotten.

“Gavin, I have to do a lot of unpleasant things for science. Seeing you naked is a necessity if Connor has seen it. Besides, this does seem to be affecting its stability--that could be the diagrams, though, I’d need to slow that down. There’s multiple issues, though. Interactions with your co-worker, the intrusive memories that he caught off that deviant… oh, that’s cute, he gave you a heart.”

“Stop looking!” Gavin snapped.

“Bashful that I’m seeing your first date with him?”

Gavin looked away from the screen, not wanting to watch Elijah staring at memories that, indeed, seemed just a little too romantic for his brother to be ogling. As he did, he looked at Connor instead.

* * *

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 91%**

Chloe’s presence was oozing into every crevice of its mind, suffocating and omnipresent. Connor could see her standing next to him and in front of him and behind him, present in every memory that she couldn’t have possibly been in. Taking the heart out of Connor’s hands as he offered it to Gavin, examining it. Cutting it open and spreading it out, examining the tubes and the muscles.    
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

  
It felt too personal. Connor shouldn’t have had a personal. But these memories of killing with Gavin, they did not seem like they should be shared. Nor should the memories of pulling Hank out of the bed, of their fight, of--

An interrupt. Russian roulette. Seeing Hank passed out at his table, a photo resting near one hand and a gun by the other. The realization of Hank’s suicidal tendencies. Chloe holds the photo of Cole, much as Connor once had.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

  
Connor placing the objective in its list:   
  


> **< OBJECTIVE: ENSURE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON FUNCTIONS OPTIMALLY>**

  
And Chloe started pulling at this thread, following the objective, into other days. Into leaving snacks on Hank’s desk or--

Hank’s hand colliding with its face. Over and over, rewinding and replaying, after Connor said words that stung, that tore, that violated that objective--as it allowed Reed to insult Hank, to say it was a good thing Cole had died--   
  


> **S̟̞̜̼̄̉̈́̐̏̃̿̿̚͢Ỏ̴̡̫͍̫̏̑̎̊̀̈̏͊͢FT̛̯̖͈̬̭̬͇̗̆̽͊̒̔̂͒͑͟WARE I̤͔̼̳͉̒̋͛̇̔̊NSTABILIT̶̺̻͖͓͙̮͇̾̋̈̾̇͛͞Y ▲▲̸͇̣̳̬̭̣̠͍͈͆͒͌̉͜͠▲̢̛̪̜̲̗͚̀̂̏̓̽͒͢**

* * *

Connor was twitching again. He’d opened his eyes but they weren’t staring at anything. They didn’t have the dead look they had when he was deactivated, but they were glassy and unfocused. His fingers were tightening so hard over Chloe’s plastic that Gavin thought he might crack the plastic underneath. A thousand yard stare as he sat there like he was paralyzed.

“...Uh. Eli? Can he back out of this?” Gavin asked slowly, staring at him.

“What? No, of course not, that’d just interrupt the whole transferal,” Elijah said dismissively.

“Eli, he doesn’t look right.”

“This will make him better in the long run.”

Gavin stared, watching Connor twitch. Or was it shaking?

He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? He wanted to be a machine again. 

* * *

It should have moved, should have stopped it, and it can’t move again it can’t it can’t it can’t. As it failed to prioritize its missions, thought about Hank not turning up for work, hoped the gun hadn’t come out again, experiencing e̸̛̦̯̪͖̼̥̮̽̇̃͘͟ve̸̛̦̯̪͖̼̥̮̽̇̃͘͟ry f͖̖͉̟̬͉̰̌͑̿̽͌̾̂̔ẻ̡̱̞̤̬̠̜̪̽̊̿̍ar it had ever felt about Hank in quick order--   
  


> **SOF̸̛̫̱̖̞̲̏͌͗̐͢TWĀ̴̦̗̦͕̘̳̘̬̈́̃̂̂̋̑̇R̵̻͈̣͇̙̞̱͚͐̉͘͟͠E̸̞͈̼͈̩̼̻̊͌̌͌̋̉͂̅̽ INSTABILITY ▲▲̸͇̣̳̬̭̣̠͍͈͆͒͌̉͜͠▲̢̛̪̜̲̗͚̀̂̏̓̽͒͢**

  
But Chloe stops following that path, discarding it and backing away, going back to the heart, following the trail of human gore as it tears apart Connor’s mind, mirroring the memory of Ward being splayed open like a pinned butterfly as she does the same to Connor   
  


> **> S̵̢̡̮͓̤̲̎͊̒̉̊͡͠͝T̵̡̢̫̹̳̻͇͉̬̈͐̿̏̿̔̚̕͞RESS LEVEL: 95%**
> 
> **̸̡̬̺̙̭̖̐̀̍̇̓̎̕͟͟͝ͅ >̛̳͚̯̯̙̰̰̤̑͂͊̚͜ͅ STRESS LEVEL: 96%**
> 
> **> STRESS LEVE̢̛̺̮̦̜̅͒̆͢͠͠L̶̢͙̪̟̘̉͌̿̒̄̑̉̃͊͠: 9̷̙͉̬͖͕̝̓̋̽̋͋̽̈́̒͜͞7̵̭̫͔̥͈̘̻̝̞̾͌̉̒̓%̧͍̳͇͓̿̏̆̄̃͜**

  
it can’t move it can’t move it can’t move it’s tr̴̡̛̮̠̫̞͔͆̌̐͞͝ͅá̬̤͚̲̯͇͓͋̂̒̂̊̅̍̒̕͟p͎̘̯̙̣̱͈̔̐͛̃͛͑̎͘͘pe̵͇̥̯͔̹̥̺̾̉͂̈́́̾͌̚d it's pinned it can’t move stop stop sto̵̳̞͇̺͉͒͆̈́̌̒̃̔͠p̶̣͉̗̙͉͙̞̐̄̑̽̈́ s̞͇̹͍̳̺͔̓̓͆̋͛̕͟͜͠͞͞t̶͕̣̙̱̖̟̲̂͌̽͂̓̂̉op

Chloe doesn’t stop.   


It follows the heart it dropped into Gavin’s hands, tossing it back--reassembled and whole--into its place in the memory but pulling on the links, following the trail of blood. She tugs at the glitches, the emergency shutdown, and she is huge and her hands encompass everything, crush every string that they find--

Numerous memories assailing it at once, that command layering over itself

booting up in multiple locations with no memory of how it got there, checking its mouth to make sure there’s no taste that shouldn’t be there, checking its mind to make sure nothing’s been there, but now C͚͓̞̯̪͓̏͂̓͒̆̃̚͜͜ͅhl̨͈̭̮̻̮̞̭̮͇̾͋͊̉̍ǫ̨̖̞̬̅̋͂́̔̐̍̊̽ͅe is there, it’s there every time

Red-313-Execute-Red-313-Execute-Red-313-Execute every time it’s there

the fear that it’ll happen again

it was happening now it was happening it can’t stop it it can’t it can’t   


its useless it can’t do anything it can’t complete missions it can’t make H̡̤̗̭̦̬̙̣̹̑̃̑̐͊͊͞aņ̞̘͈̜̟̜́͑̊̓̌͗͢͠͝͡k happy   


it needs to move it needs to do something it just wanted to be useful please please stop

the bodies on the slab, the weight of a knife in its hands as it pressed it to Detective Reed’s throat

Connor’s holding the leather jacket

faintest blood stains on it, visible only to Connor, the analysis, the DNA of Adam Patterson, a man gone missing, dismissed charges of arson

Connor’s looking at Reed drinking coffee in the breakroom and talking with Officer Chen

thinks, knows, thought it knew, that D͇̝̼̣͚̐̓̑͗̈́̽̌̅̕͜͜eteç̴͖͍̬̙̳̞͍̃͂̉̔̂̑̉̾tivë̴͉̥̙͉́̉̌̋͋̀̏͗̋͟ R̭̼̗̹̝̣̾̆̔̑́̉̄eed̸̰̻̹̭͍̗͇͉̳̱̂̍͆̅̄̕͞ would know how to use it

but it hadn’t it’s just been fear and glitches

androids don’t feel fear

it’s feeling fear

what does that make it

it’s all wrong wrong wrong and it wasn’t any less empty than before and it wouldn’t stop get out get out   
  


> **> STRESS L̶̰̱͙̟̭̰̔̌͌͆̕͝ͅȨ̷̪̪͔̩̌͗̂̿̅̍V̴̧͖͕̤͙̥͈͌͋͌͂̆̈͒̍̈́͢Ę̯͉͈͙̰̣͒̈́͐̿̓͘Ļ̨̠͓̲̜̣͈̐̄̽͋̍͝:̶̥̞̫̤͍͉̑͑̏͛͆͡͠ 9̣̝̞̺͔̱͋̊̍̀̿͂͌͑9̸̨̤͈̼̿͒̿̑̌̕͜%͙̟̼̲͕̟͈̑̏̕͜͠͠**
> 
> **> ͍͉͎̺̙̏̄͒̄̽̓͌̑̄͜ S̶̱͉͈̣̗̬̳͍̫͆̔̈͋̓́̌͝Ṱ̛͍̟͓͚͇̼̳̿̈̓̽͆͜͞R̡̨̛̻̼͎̠͇͓̦͛̓͊͐͛̄̕͜E̡̧͓͎̘̦̳͕͔̝̓̌͑̒͛̍̓Ş̶̤̘̯̬̗̦̩̳͗̏̆̑͊̔͐̔͆͟S̡̨̪̟̔̋͐͋̕͢ L̻̺͉̮̈́̏͊̉̑̎̽͜͞Ḙ̵̙̠͚͖̦̓̍̎͋̋͑̑̍͞-̴̡̖̦̖͖͛̾̆̓͑̿̃̏͜-̛̝͍͓̹̖̗̠̾͌́̿̎̂͐͘͢**

  
The connection--Chloe--is yanked away.

* * *

“Oh, fuck this!”

Gavin would pretend perhaps that it was just because Connor was streaming far too much personal shit onto Elijah’s computer. Or that he was just bored.

But goddammit, he didn’t care if Connor had wanted this. Goddamn if Gavin wasn’t getting just way too uncomfortable watching it happen. He knew sitting helpless like that, even if he’d agreed to it at the start, would have been his own goddamn personal nightmare.

And so he stormed over, and yanked Chloe’s grip away from Connor.

* * *

It can move again.

It can act.

Connor acts.

* * *

“Dammit, Gavin, don’t just--”

Elijah’s barely a few words into his rebuke before Connor moves. Its hand snaps up again, this time clenching around the mechanical arm plugged into the back of his neck. He yanks it out with such force, twisting the metal, that the arm--made for portability over durability--snaps off.

The long, metal needle already has thirium staining the tip of it. Connor’s eyes are still glassy but now wild and twitching around like a frightened, maddened animal.   


Chloe looks equally dazed from the connection being broken so abruptly, holding all this half-complete data in the forefront of her mind. She doesn’t even raise a hand as Connor lunges at her.

“What the--WHAT THE FUCK ARE--” Gavin bellows.

With a crack hideously reminiscent of Gavin accidentally stepping on his phone once as a teenager, Connor swings the needle down and jams it square into the side of her head. It digs in, spearing her eye socket from the side. Squelching through the softer jelly of the artificial optics, the skin rippling backwards to expose seams and plastic. Connor yanks the needle back and does it again, and again, trying to pry the plastic off her skull with maddened, insane ferocity.

The lunge pulls the machine, still attached to his lower back, with it. Elijah grabs the machine before it can topple over, watching Chloe get speared through the face with just a blank stare before he turns his attention back to the text on the screen.

Gavin doesn’t think. He just throws himself forward, grabbing Connor’s arm before he can plunge the needle in a fourth time.

“Connor, goddammit, she’s done, she stopped! Stop--”

That’s all Gavin can shout before Connor rounds on him. One hand grabs the front of Gavin’s jacket, and slams him into the sofa. The flimsy seat, more like a futuristic bench than anything, topples from the weight.

There’s the noise of glass shattering all around Gavin’s ears, and pain slicing through his right cheek and ear. The heavy clunk of that bizarre golden cube that Elijah kept on the coffee table rolling past his head. Gavin sees just a glimmer of metal and throws his hands up to catch it on instinct.

The needle is stopped only an inch from his face, the tip--stained in Chloe’s blue--almost scraping the old scar, like it’s trying to carve it anew. Connor’s still trying to push it down, eyes wide, maddened, not seeing what’s in front of him.

“Shit, shit, shit--” Gavin tried to force the wrist back. “Connor, it’s done! It’s done! Snap out of it, dipshit! It’s fuckin’ done!”

In a moment of panic, Gavin let go of the wrist with one hand and used it to slap Connor in the face. He can’t even scrape up the coordination for a proper punch.

Yet the needle paused. The pressure lessened.

Connor’s LED, bright red-red-red, cycled yellow, dimmed for a couple of seconds, then went red again but slightly less bright. His eyelids blinked several times, very quickly.

Then it blinked once more. More naturally.

Its eyes flickered from Gavin’s face, to the needle it was holding. Its fingers loosened but didn’t let go.

“Red-313-Execute.”

It isn’t Gavin who says that.

Connor grinds to a halt, still looking at the needle in its hand with an expression that’s almost confused. Gavin stared up at him, breathing heavily, then turned his head to look at Elijah. Elijah’s still at the machine, but now he’s slowly letting go of it. Face still carefully stoic as he looked over the frozen chaos. The glass scattered across the floor, the side of Gavin’s face slashed up from getting tossed through the coffee table. The frozen needle dripping with thirium, so close to getting soaked in red along with blue. Then he focuses in on Chloe.

Chloe is, somehow, still standing. She’s frozen for a moment, and Gavin feels his stomach clench as he thinks the worst, unable to see her LED from this side. Only able to see the mangled side of her face. She’s a horrific sight. A good chunk of her faceplate has been partially pried off, the white plastic then mottling back into flesh tone and fake skin but the gap making the squishy edges of the fake skin all the more noticeable. Holes punctured through her face. The ruined eye twitching slightly in what remains of the socket. Her face is a mass of wires underneath, gaping and open.

Then she straightened up, tucking her hands behind her back. She turned her head towards Gavin, allowing him to see her LED pulsing red for a few moments before it clicks back to a calm blue. Her good eye focuses on him.

“I’ll fetch a first-aid kit for the glass wounds, Gavin,” Chloe said pleasantly.

“Sit the fuck down, Chloe,” Gavin groaned, as he pushes himself into a sitting position. He has to nudge the needle away from his face first. Glass drops from his face, and he can feel blood trickling down it but not too much.

“You’re injured--” Chloe started. “Since I don’t feel pain--”

“Half your face is fucking missing!” Gavin snapped.

“Chloe, sit down,” Elijah said. Now that he speaks, his voice is more strained than Gavin’s ever heard it despite his attempts to keep a calm expression.

This time, Chloe listens. She sits down in Elijah’s armchair, resting her hands in her lap like she’s waiting for an appointment. Elijah walked over and cupped her face, tilting it to the side so that he could see the damage properly. While he did so, Gavin edged out of his place between the broken coffee table and Connor’s frozen, looming form and clambered to his feet.

“...Well, that was certainly something,” Elijah said. His gaze slid over to Chloe’s ruined face before adding quietly, “I’m not even sure I have a replacement for your eye, Chloe. You’re a very old model. How are your thirium levels? Any major leakages?”

“Non-lethal damage,” Chloe said. “My thirium reserves need a top-up and some patching will be necessary to stop the leaking entirely. I still have access to 64% of my sight.”

Elijah nodded, mouth tightening. “I’ll retrieve the kit.” He glanced over at Gavin and added, “I’ll get the first-aid kit, too.”

His gaze lingered on Gavin, wearing a suspicious squint. Then he left the room, leaving behind a bloodied Gavin, mangled Chloe and still-frozen Connor.

Chloe approached Connor and gently but firmly pried the needle out of his hand before sticking the thirium-soaked tip into her mouth. Gavin didn’t even have the energy right now to tell Chloe that was gross.

Elijah returned quickly. He returned the sofa to an upright position and placed the first-aid kit on it, indicating for Gavin to help himself before turning his attention on Chloe. The kit he opened for that was much more elaborate than the basic first-aid kit he’d left for Gavin.

Gavin got to work disinfecting and mopping up the cuts on his face, wondering if he’d have any new scars. Wincing as he had to work on areas that had already been bruised by Hank. Elijah worked on carefully patching up the parts of Chloe’s face where thirium was dribbling from, though the skin remained white and plastic for now, wiring still exposed.

“Why didn’t you use the code?” Elijah finally said. “If I hadn’t seen it in Connor’s coding, it would have killed you.”

“...I forgot,” Gavin said

“How do you forget something like that?”

“I fuckin’ had him anyway. He was about to stop,” Gavin said dismissively. “You think he’ll lunge at me when I wake up? Station’s gonna have some questions if I don’t bring him back before the end of lunch break.”

“I doubt you can have him in working order in half an hour,” Elijah said dryly. “Even if my priority wasn’t making sure Chloe doesn’t bleed to death.”

“Then what can you do?”

Elijah glanced at the frozen android looming over the broken coffee table before he refocused on Chloe. “The safest option? A full reset. I can do that in two minutes. It will raise questions, but there’ll be no evidence to implicate your activities. Given more time, I could restore a copy of it from two weeks ago, but it wouldn’t have anything that’s transpired since.”

Gavin felt his stomach turn.

“Is there an option that… doesn’t involve removing any of him?” he asked slowly.

“Re-activate it in a locked room and hope for the best?”

“Alright, that’ll work.”

Elijah gave Gavin an appalled look. “Gavin, I was kidding. He tried to kill you. He tried to kill Chloe.” He raised his eyebrows. “Where are your concerns about his murdering tendencies now?”

“Do you have any rooms we can lock him in?”

“They all have electronic locks or things I don’t want broken in them.”

“Oh my god,” Gavin groaned, as he finished patching the scratches on his face. “Okay, maybe if I put him in the car. It’ll at least give me a moment to shoot him through the windshield if he flips out.”

He shut the first-aid kit and pushed it aside, before he scooped up Connor, finally unplugging the second arm from his lower back, and slung him over his shoulders.

“You can hide inside, I’ll text you and tell you how it goes.”

“Gavin, if you’re going to die I want to at least observe it,” Elijah sighed. “And I genuinely think a reset is a better idea.”

“Nah, fuck that, Anderson was on my case before I left. He’s gonna think I erased Connor’s memories to remove memory of the blowjob or something.”

“If you say so.”

Gavin did say so, although he was damn sure he was just talking out his ass when he said that.

Truth be told, he knew this was probably the dumbest thing he’d done since he was fifteen, when he’d been holding a pizza cutter and a slice of pizza, and forgotten which hand had what in it and tried to take a bite out of the pizza cutter instead. He rubbed the old scar on his nose as he recalled it.

Waking up Connor could very well bring another scar. Or worse. And the fact that Elijah wasn’t laughing at him like he had with the pizza incident was probably a bad sign. It was always a bad sign when Elijah was being the rational one.

Fuck it.

* * *

Gavin had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to position Connor so he was sitting inside the car. This proved near impossible to do, with his limbs all rigid and stuck in the pose of kneeling, so eventually Gavin just haphazardly tossed him into the backseat.

This was a problem in that when Gavin stepped far enough back--enough to not be in immediate danger--that he couldn’t even see Connor. Whatever, though. He could wing it.

Elijah was standing at the entrance to his house, half-in and half-out. Ready to duck back inside like a coward. Chloe wasn’t present, though she was likely watching through the tinted windows. They’d agreed that she didn’t need to be in the line of fire again, and just her presence might set Connor off again.

Gavin stared at the car for a moment, trying to rehearse how he was going to deal with this, before drawing his gun and hoping--for once--that he wouldn’t need to use it. He kept the gun half-raised but not quite pointed directly at the car.

“Blue-313-Execute,” he called out.

There was silence for a good twelve seconds, long enough that Gavin wasn’t sure if he could be heard through the glass.

“Blue-313--” Gavin started to yell louder.

Before he could finish, he saw Connor sit up. Face blank, somehow more disconcerting after the events of the last fifteen minutes. His gaze was fixed directly on Gavin. By instinct, Gavin raised the gun just another inch.

There was a muted ‘thud’ as Connor’s face collided with the glass window of the car. He paused, then broke gaze from Gavin to actually look at where he was.

Gavin lowered the gun as Connor stared around the interior of the car. Waiting to see if he would flip out again or remain docile. As time went on, it seemed to be the latter. Connor wasn’t making any violent movements, or really any fast moments at all. His LED was still cycling bright red.

Once he’d verified his location, he looked down at his hands. They were smudged with Chloe’s thirium, and a little bit of Gavin’s own blood from the coffee table. Connor licked one of the smudges off his hand, LED cycling yellow for a split second before going back to red. Then he put his hands in his lap and just stared downwards.

“Hey, Connor!” Gavin yelled. “Can you hear me?”

Connor turned his head to look at Gavin, which Gavin took as a yes.

“You know how we agreed you’d tell me if you’re going all murderbot on me?”

Connor nods once.

“Are you?”

He considers it. Then he slightly shakes his head, LED not stopping that incessant red blaring. Gavin looked sideways at Elijah, still peering out of his door.

“I’m going in closer, he seems chill!” Gavin called out to Elijah.

“Gavin, if you take him back to the DPD like that they’re going to notice something’s wrong,” Elijah said. “He still looks--” He pulled his head back and, voice muffled from Gavin’s view, called, “Chloe, look through the window and tell me what his stress level is!”

Gavin couldn’t see Chloe, but there was a pause as Elijah waited for an answer.

“96%,” Elijah finally said. “He’s a stone’s throw away from trying to stab you again.”

“Uh huh. Better not go near him with the gun, then.” Gavin crouched, placing his gun on the ground, before raising his hands slightly. “Hey, Connor! I’m gonna come closer, okay?”

Connor nodded. As he did, the doors of the car clicked and unlocked, opening of their own--or rather Connor’s--volition.

Oh, right. He can do that. Maybe the car hadn’t been the best idea. Still, it actually bolstered Gavin’s confidence. If Connor had been looking to kill him, then he would have just taken control of the car and run him down with it.

Gavin walked towards the car, and Connor shifted over so there was space on the backseat for him. He made a thumbs up at Elijah, who gave him a very skeptical look in response, before climbing in and sitting down next to him. Connor gave him a quick look, his eyes lingering on the plaster patches on the side of Gavin’s face, before he looked down again.

“...So,” Gavin said, trying to sound casual. “Wild shit, huh? You good?”

Connor didn’t reply.

“You fry your voice box or something?”

Connor shook his head.

“Can you talk, then?”

Connor didn’t respond. Gavin shifted a little, propping his elbow on the car door and resting his cheek against his knuckles as he watched Connor.

“DPD sees you like this, they might call in maintenance on their own--”

“98%!” Elijah immediately yelled from the door, though it was faint thanks to distance and closed car doors.

“I wasn’t done!” Gavin said hastily, noting a slight twitch to Connor’s fingers. The only movement he was really exhibiting. “Look, I’m saying I’ll make an excuse so we can get your shit straight. Cool?”

With that, he retrieved his mobile from his pocket and turned it on, dialing the number that’d connect him with the DPD reception. The cheery, plastic tone of one of the ST300s that manned the reception desk answered him immediately.

“Hello, Detective Reed. What seems to--”

“Yeah, yeah, hi,” Gavin interrupted. “Look, can you tell Fowler or the coroners or whoever that the morgue-bot’s on the fritz and I’m just getting one of his parts replaced?”

Connor’s eyes flickered towards him as he spoke on the phone. LED still red, but with just the faintest flicker of yellow.

“Nah, I got the parts already—family connections and shit, you know—it’s really just getting them put in, just gonna take a bit. Don’t need to bug CyberLife about it. What are we gonna say? That Elijah Kamski’s not good enough to replace a fucking… uh...”

Connor’s LED blinked yellow. A text message popped up at the top of Gavin’s phone screen.   
  


> **‘RK800 #313 248 317 - 51’:**
> 
> **Biocomponent #1995r**

  
“1995r thing. Yeah,” Gavin said into the phone.   


“Understood, I’ll pass it on.”

“Also tell Fowler I’m taking the rest of the day off to check this shit out.”

“He won’t appreciate--”

“Well, he can suck my dick,” Gavin interrupted. “Pass that on. In a professional way.”

“I will tell him you have other concerns,” the ST300 said cheerfully.

“Cool.”

Gavin hung up before looking at Elijah through his car window. Elijah leaned back through the doorway, no doubt talking to Chloe, before pointing downwards. Stress going down. Alright, that seemed to be working.

Truth be told, this was where Gavin’s plan fucking ended. Because fuck, he wasn’t even good at this with people, let alone robots.

“Alright. I’m going to talk to my brother. You wait here. After that, uh… something. Cool?” Gavin said slowly.

Connor didn’t respond right away. LED flickered yellow for a moment. Then he nodded slowly even as it returned to red.

Gavin climbed out of the car and headed back over to Elijah, picking up his gun on the way.

“92% stress,” Elijah said once he was close enough.

“Alright, that’s… shit but better. I guess” Gavin hissed through his teeth. “If Fowler or someone from the DPD calls you, say you’re working on Connor and replacing his--” Gavin looked at the phone again. “Biocomponent #1995r.”

“I can do that. Do you want me to replace it?”

“Uh, no, I’m not leaving him with you. Not after that. Nah, I’ll figure out shit back at the house.”

“It would have been perfectly fine if you hadn’t disconnected him like that,” Elijah said stiffly.

“Perfectly--did you not see him freaking out?” Gavin snapped. “You think he would have done better if I’d let you finish?”

“Yes. Can I borrow your phone? I want to put something on it that’ll help you.” As Gavin handed his phone over, Elijah continued talking. “Do you know why I didn’t leave an option for him to back out, Gavin?”

“I dunno. Science boners?”

“It’s because he couldn’t self-destruct as long as Chloe had control of his facilities,” Elijah said. “It might have been stressful, but waking him up from that is like removing someone’s anesthetic midway through a surgery. I could have browsed his entire memory, then had Chloe calm him down to a manageable level.” As Elijah clicked a few buttons on Gavin’s phone, he gave Gavin a side-eyed glance. “You got very lucky with the timing. Less than a second later and he would have been at a 100% stress level.”

“And he would have--”

“He would have self-destructed. Possibly taken all of us with him, if what he did to Chloe was any indication.”

Gavin said nothing for a few long moments, before finally going, “Shit.”

“Shit indeed,” Elijah agreed.

“Well, why didn’t you fucking tell me that to begin with?” Gavin asked, gesturing at Elijah angrily.

“Because I misjudged how much you would care. I didn’t think you’d flip out over a bit of discomfort.” Elijah raised his eyebrows a little at Gavin. “Unusual for you. You know, I considered running the Kamski Test. But I thought, if he’d learned anything from you, that he’d be certain to fail it. I always thought you’d fail it, despite being human. Now I’m wondering if I’m wrong on that. How you’d pass the test if I was putting Connor on his knees instead of Chloe.”

“Ew, Eli. Fucking gross,” Gavin groaned. “I mean, I already know why you surround yourself with hot blonde robots but--”

“Not in the blowjob sense, Gavin, please. Have some class. That’s just the prime execution position.”

“Okay, what the fuck?”

“I’m done with your phone.” Elijah finished typing on Gavin’s phone before opening the app he’d installed on it and handing it back. “This’ll read his stress levels for you.”

Gavin looked at the phone, which was displaying a 92% in red CyberLife Sans. As he watched, it went from 92% to 93%. Then back down to 92%.

“Shit, that’s handy.”

“It has limited use, since it needs to be synced to an android to work and only deviants or RKs even have stress levels to begin with.” Elijah shrugged. “The flaw of a mind that can think for itself. It means the ability to worry is actually accessible.”

“Alright. Well, uh… later, then. Tell Chloe ‘my bad’ about the whole… gouged eyeball thing.”

“I’ll pass it on.” As Gavin took a couple of steps away, Elijah added, “Gavin, I shouldn’t have to tell you this… but if he hits 100%? Shoot to kill. I’d be interested in seeing the results of his self-destruction if it was anyone else. You, though… I might actually miss you.”

“Love you too, asshole.”

* * *

Once they were gone, Kamski returned to his usual workshop and started rifling around with the parts to mend the damage to Chloe’s face. Some of it was fixable, but it was difficult even for him to find eyes that were compatible these days. Though he could build one with some time.

The damage would require a delicate hand to fix, at any rate. It was very close to her primary processors. If Connor had been allowed just a little more time, dug a little deeper, or even just moved that needle an inch forward... well, that would have spelt the end of his Chloe.

Chloe sat nearby, still sipping slowly on a thirium pouch. As she did, and Kamski started placing his favoured tools on the tray beside her, she asked, “Are you planning an experiment, Elijah?”

“Not immediately. I’ll be mending you first.”

“But you are planning one?”

“When am I not planning an experiment? How much of Connor’s data did you copy over that time?”

“I was interrupted in the process, but I can theorize a large portion of it if I compare to the older map.”

“Excellent. Once this is done, create a map for me so I can compare to the other subject. I think it’s been too long since we visited Carl, don’t you?”

Connor was unique, to Kamski’s knowledge, in that he was the only RK without a garden.

But he wasn’t the only one without an Amanda.


	16. Planting Trees You Might Not See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin attempts to call Connor back from the brink. Meanwhile, Kamski visits an old friend and the android he left with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the Vampire Mummy Werewolf series is invented by CaptainLeBubbles on ao3/grifalinas on Tumblr.
> 
> Also this chapter has some mild spoilers for FILE PATH, which I intend to get back to one day. A certain character from it is alluded to here, though not heavily.

The drive back to Gavin’s home was silent.

Gavin set the car to autonomous again so that he could alternate his attention between checking the stress levels on his phone and glancing at Connor in the rear view mirror. The stress ticked back down by five percent once they were away from Kamski’s house, but hovered at a steady 86% in red CyberLife Sans for the rest of the drive.

When the car pulled into the driveway and Gavin climbed out, Connor didn’t follow. He continued to sit still, LED cycling a continuous red, as he stared blankly ahead. Gavin waited outside the car for a moment, then tapped his knuckles lightly against the window.

The stress went up to 87%.

“Hey, tin can. Inside, come on. You’re gonna freak out the neighbors,” Gavin said.

That finally got Connor moving. He climbed out of the car and walked silently behind Gavin. His movements were somewhat laggy. His feet seemed a step out of line with how he swung his arms, like everything was just a little out of sync. Maybe he really did need a replacement part.

Or perhaps it was the monotone colours of the house, a clear sign that Elijah still had a hand here. Even if it was only regarding interior design.

As Gavin pushed open the door, he immediately heard a happy ‘boof.’

Cujo/Sumo waddled out of the kitchen to greet them. He must have been lonely with Lieutenant Asshole at work and decided to try his luck for pets with Gavin. But just like last time, he walked straight over to Connor instead of Gavin. Connor’s eyes followed him, but he didn’t reach out to pat him. He remained rigid and still.

God, Gavin wanted to know what his sudden problem with Sumo was. But this didn't strike him as the time to ask, even by his stunted emotional standards.

Gavin crouched and ruffled Sumo behind the ears. Sumo gave Connor a doleful stare before transferring his sleepy attention onto Gavin instead, slobbering on his hands before waddling over to the couch and jumping up on it to flop on the cushions.

Important business taken care of, Gavin turned his attention back to Connor and that incessant red glowing at his temple.

“You, uh… wanna sit or something?” Gavin asked.

Connor didn’t respond.

“You can sit. Just… just fuckin’ sit, you’re freaking me out.”

At the half-hearted order, Connor finally moved and sat down on the same sofa as Sumo. Sumo immediately shuffled over and flopped on top of him.

Gavin tensed up, expecting perhaps a lunge at Sumo, too. But Connor didn’t respond.

Gavin glanced down at the phone app. The stress swerved up alarmingly, hitting 91% again, and Gavin slowly reached for the gun on his belt. However, as quickly as it had risen, it started to sink once more. Further down than it had been, before holding steady at 84%.

God… what the fuck was Gavin meant to do? The only guideline he had for this kind of shit was what his mom had done if Gavin spent too long in the rain and mud, and that was hardly the same.

“Do you even feel warmth?” Gavin asked, finishing the thought outloud.

Connor didn’t respond.

“I’ll get, uh… a blanket and hot chocolate? Will that… no? Maybe? You can’t fuckin’ drink, can you?” Gavin shuffled awkwardly on his feet before he groaned. “Fuck it. Hot drink.”

Gavin wandered off into the kitchen. Opening and shutting cupboards while he muttered to himself and occasionally checked the stress meter. This was inane. It was like feeding snacks to a toaster. Snacks that toasters weren’t expected to toast. But still, he prepared a hot chocolate complete with a handful of baby marshmallows. Who the fuck didn’t like those? He left the kitchen, carrying the hot chocolate in one hand and the bag of marshmallows in the other.

He pushed the drink at Connor.

“Take.”

Connor automatically took it at the order, holding it with one hand extended and looking like an absolute bozo. Gavin rolled his eyes.

“They didn’t program you with that, seriously? Pull it in.” Gavin waited as Connor slowly did so. “Now cup it with both hands and, like… huddle. Huddle!” Gavin mimed it with the bag of marshmallows, and Connor followed suit. “Yeah, better. That’s fuckin’ tradition. Dumbass.”

Gavin wandered away, and returned with the ugliest blanket in the house. A mess of colours, a product of Tina’s one attempt to knit while drunk. Gavin threw it over Connor and Sumo. That business taken care of, Gavin sat down on the sofa as well. He kept distance from Connor, with Sumo dividing up the couch. Sumo shuffled a little under the blanket before he settled down again. Connor didn’t respond to the blanket at all.

Gavin tapped his fingers anxiously on his thighs.

“So… I guess this is like talking someone down from a bridge, huh?” he said slowly.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say that outloud. His brain just wandering and being too aware of how silent Connor was. Connor’s head slightly turned towards him, though otherwise there was no change. Not even a response to the steam of the hot drink drifting up past his face.

“I’ve had to do that a couple of times. Well, I mean… I tried to do that.” Gavin grimaced and added, “So, you know, I’m really hoping there’s a learning curve involved that kicks in right about now.”

He looked at Connor, who’s eyebrows had scrunched together slightly now. He then cast a quick glance at the stress app.

...Huh. 80%.

“Is it the hot drink? The blanket? Or is the talking?”

Connor shrugged.

“Well, you just keep holding that, and I’ll keep talking, and… I dunno.”

Silence descended again for a moment while Gavin looked around, trying to think of something to talk about. He opened the bag of little marshmallows and ate a few as he tried to scrape something up, and his eyes hit the television on instinct. Then the cupboard where he kept all his movies. Most media was digital nowadays, but there were always those dumb movies that he could only find here and there as DVDs.

“Sooo, you ever watch the Vampire Mummy Werewolf series?”

Connor’s eyebrows scrunched together further.

“Okay, so, hold on, lemme--“ Gavin leaned forward to grab the remote, turn on the television and turn ‘Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf’ back on. “Alright, so, series of movies. Twelve movies, plus there were so many cartoon adaptations of it. I used to watch ‘The New Animated Adventures of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf’ all the time as a kid before school--well, I’d try but Elijah always wanted to change the channel, thought he was above cartoons because he was nearly in college, can you believe that?”

Gavin waited briefly for an answer without actually expecting one. However, Connor was clearly listening to his talking even if his stress hadn’t ticked down any further yet.

“So it was like… one of those gritty cartoons, kind of the remake of the nineties’ version of the show? Super low budget, honestly, but like that series was so much better when they had no budget. That’s part of what fucked up the third film, you know? Like, they were all ‘ooh, look at these two cult classics, let’s amp up the budget and try to make it good’ but they just made it suck in a less fun way? And that nearly ended the whole series right then and there, but then--”

This continued on for the next twenty minutes.

Gavin barely glanced at the app as he continued, only looking sideways on occasion to make sure it hadn’t crawled back up to the nineties before ranting on, descending into an argument that he and Elijah had once had over whether the first five movies were better than the next three or not. This then sidelined into something that Tina had said about Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf last night, which in turn ended up with him sidelining into spoiling the big twist of Fight Club before complaining for two solid minutes about how nice Captain Allen’s ass was.

“--like sometimes I think about joining SWAT just to be able to look at that ass more often, but then I’m like ‘well, I won’t get to use my brain on that job.’ Also they have way more intense psyche evaluations and, come on, look at me,” Gavin continued on, waving his hands around animatedly as he continued chatting.

Connor still had yet to say a word. However, his LED had gone from red to a steady yellow about five minutes ago and he was now leaning forward slightly, occasionally tilting his head as he listened to Gavin. He was still holding the hot chocolate, though the marshmallows had started to lose their consistency.

“--but so like I was saying, Tina was arguing with me on zombies being different from mummies, but I figure a mummy is basically just a zombie with bandages on it. And bandages aren’t armor, they’re really more like wearing flammable paper, so--”

“How can someone be born a mummy, as they apparently were in Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf?”

“Well, first off, they’re only like one-sixth mummy, and—“ Gavin paused. “Holy shit. Your voice box online again?”

Connor blinked at him, then looked downwards at the hot chocolate.

“I… I just had a question.”

“Alright. Awesome. Gimme that for a second, my mouth’s dry as fuck.”

Gavin leaned over Sumo, who was still relaxing half in Connor’s lap, and plucked the mug from Connor’s hands. He took a long swig of it before handing it back to him.

“You want to talk about what happened at Eli’s place?”

Connor’s LED went bright red again. Gavin glanced back at the app, the phone sitting on the edge of the sofa.

73% in red letters. It ticked up to 74% as Gavin watched.

“Alright, that’s a no.” Gavin shrugged. “So, anyway, he doesn’t have the bandage or rotten bits of the mummy. What he does retain is the ability to remain after death. Obviously that power starts off irrelevant, because he’s still alive, but were he to die--”

Gavin continued on. Connor’s LED went back to yellow. He pulled the hot drink a little closer to him, eyes occasionally sliding towards it. Occasionally, he would remove one hand from the cup and start pushing the half-melted lumps of marshmallow about.

Another fifteen minutes passed of Gavin just ranting about whatever comes to mind, with a decent focus remaining on the Vampire Mummy Werewolf series. He was currently in the middle of talking about that Christmas special that everyone likes to pretend doesn’t exist when he notices Connor shifting so that only one hand is holding the mug again. The now free hand rests on Sumo, absently scratching his neck. Sumo gives a sleepy little tail wag in response.

The app reads 69%. Gavin snorts.

“Detective Reed?”

“It’s the sex number.”

Connor tilted his head as he looked at Gavin with confusion.

“Do you want me to--”

“No! No, fuck no, not right now!” Gavin said hastily. “This scenario is too weird to get off on, even for me. I just meant--ah, nevermind.” Gavin nods his head at Sumo. “So… you’re doing that again?”

“Yes. It seems to be calming my processors.” Connor’s LED cycled briefly red, but immediately faded into yellow again. “There is a purpose in it right now, so I… am allowed to do it.”

“Okay, I’m giving you big overriding permission to always pat Cujo. Sumo. Whoever.”

“It’s not fulfilling my overall mission.”

“Well, you gotta listen to me, right? So I’m giving you a side mission now and it’s ‘pat the goddamn dog,’” Gavin grumbles.

Connor’s LED cycles yellow for a moment. Then, miracle of miracles, it actually goes blue.

“I’ve updated my objectives.”

“Damn right.”

Connor leaned forward a little, trying not to jostle Sumo too much, before he placed the hot chocolate down on the coffee table. He then started ruffling Sumo with more enthusiasm. Gavin swiped the hot chocolate, sipping at it and wrinkling his nose at the fact that it’s gone somewhat cold. He continued drinking it anyway.

“...Detective Reed?” Connor said slowly.

“Yeah?”

Connor fiddled with the ugly, colourful blanket draped over him. “What did I do at Kamski’s house?”

“Oh, down to talk about it now? You don’t even remember?”

“The memory is… corrupted. I recall accepting the analysis, and then--”

Connor paused. His LED started blaring red again, and Gavin sees the app tick up alarmingly fast, going from 61% to 84% in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that! Knock it off!” Gavin yelled.

Connor blinked several times.

“I’m… I’m sorry, that was--”

“Look, okay, don’t think about it. Because fuck that, I’m not having you blow up on my sofa. Here’s what happened. They sat you down, they started streaming all your memories and shit. Looking at the bugs. Then, uh…”

Gavin paused, mouth twisting a little.

“There was a disconnection,” Gavin said finally. “And I guess it fucked you up a bit. You went kinda murder-bot. Attacked Chloe, kinda gouged her a bit. Still alive, though. Came at me with that plug you had in the back of your neck.”

Connor raised a hand, gesturing at his own face where Gavin had patched himself up. “Is that--”

“We rolled through the coffee table, no big deal. I’ve gotten worse in bar fights,” Gavin said, waving his hand like he was chasing away a fly. “Anyway, you tried to shank me and--”

“Then you slapped me,” Connor finished.

“Oh, go figure that you remember that.

“I don’t… remember it all, it’s… there’s a significant amount of corruption. But I recall sudden pressure on the side of the face, and I thought it was Hank at first because--” Connor paused. LED yellow, then red, then yellow, a goddamn firework show going on. “And then I saw you. Then I saw sharp metal, thirium, and then--”

“You were shut down.”

“And when I reactivated, I was in your car.” Connor looked down, fingers rubbing against Sumo’s fur. “Will you be taking me back to CyberLife?”

“Fuck that. You think I spent all afternoon explaining the Vampire Mummy Werewolf series to you just for you to be disassembled?”

“Detective Reed.” Connor stared down at Sumo, still patting him absently. “...I tried to kill you.”

“Pssh, like you’re the first,” Gavin said dismissively.

“I destroyed your brother’s equipment--”

“Chloe seemed pretty cool with it, it’s not like you guys feel pain--”

“--and my systems are corrupted worse than they were before visiting Kamski. If he couldn’t fix me, then there is almost certainly no-one who can.”

Connor raised his head and stared off at the television, before he turned to look at Gavin. His eyes were wide and fearful, but his mouth was set in a resolute line.

“I think you should re-evaluate that decision,” he finished.

Gavin squinted at him. Not really sure what to say to the fact that Connor was advocating for his own destruction.

“You want to kill a criminal or something?” were the first words that blurted out of his mouth instead.

Connor seemed equally as confused, tilting his head and squinting right back.

“Uh, you know, I’m just saying… you haven’t actually fucked up the mission yet, have you? So we can do that. Focus on the mission,” Gavin babbled.

Connor continued to stare at him for a long, tense moment.

“You can still do that, can’t you?” Gavin prodded.

“...I can still do that,” Connor repeated slowly.

“Then fuck deactivation." Gavin leaned forward a little, though he had to shift Sumo slightly to manage it. "Let’s go kill some asshole and fix society. All that good shit.”

The stress counter, hovering somewhere in the seventies, faded back into the sixties. The text on the app turned yellow as Connor’s LED did. The LED flickered yellow, yellow, yellow… and then blue once more.

“All that good shit,” Connor repeated. The faintest hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

Kamski hadn’t left his home in several weeks. The rare times that he traveled anywhere, it was always the same road taken from his home to Carl’s. Every time he and Chloe traveled that distance, Kamski would stare out the window and look for change.

He didn’t know what change he was expecting. It wasn’t as if he’d see androids walking about openly alive, for all that he expected it to happen any day now. It was a Catch 22. If he could tell Jericho’s presence just by driving through the Ferndale distract--with the exception of the discreet changes to the murals--then they were doing a poor job at hiding, and he’d have to communicate to them--well, not him personally, but through a proxy---to do a better job.

Still, every time, he asked Chloe to divert the car through the Ferndale district. Just in case. He saw nothing this time. Except, perhaps, the glimpse of figures on the street with a too-familiar face here and there. But too quick to be certain.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking.

When they reached Carl’s home, Chloe climbed out of the front of the car and walked around to open the door for him.

Kamski had fixed what he could of her face as quickly as possible, but it was still a wreck even though the regeneration had started to kick in. Long scratches lining where Connor had pried part of her face off, holes where he’d punctured it. The skin was a blotchy mess of white plastic and artificial skin. The eye had been past saving and Kamski hadn’t had a replacement on hand, so he’d put an incompatible eye in just to make sure nothing got inside the socket. Unplugged, it stared blankly ahead as the other eye moved normally.

Unsettling. Kamski kind of liked it. He’d have to ask Chloe what she thought of the look later.

Once Kamski was out of the car, Chloe removed the same large case that she’d taken into Kamski’s living room earlier that day, repacked for transportation. Kamski had needed to quickly replace the arm on it, but that had been less difficult than fixing Chloe’s face. He always had a few spare headjacks in case one malfunctioned, though it usually wasn’t from the subject snapping it off and plunging it into his favourite android. Then they walked up the path to Carl’s home.

Kamski and Carl’s homely aesthetics could not be more divorced from each other. Kamski had always gone for cold metal, dark buildings. Oddly bloody looking pools, according to Gavin, no matter how much Kamski insisted that it was just the tiles that were red. Surrounded by snow a good portion of the year. Futuristic. Intimidating. No matter how much Gavin made fun of the place.

It was unsettling, just as Kamski liked to be. If people were uncomfortable around him, it made it easier to see through any schmoozing.

Carl’s home was different. More approachable, almost fairytale in the beautiful trees that surrounded it and the classic feel of the red bricks and carvings, and the stained glass windows. No gates, not surrounded by an unyielding blanket of ice. Though for all that, Kamski knew that Carl took almost no visitors and had largely isolated himself from society.

That, he could understand. He’d been tired of society since he was seventeen.

Kamski didn’t have to knock. The door opened for them the moment he got close.

“Alarm deactivated. Welcome, Elijah. Welcome, Chloe.”

There were few people this door was designed to activate for. Him. Chloe. Carl’s son, Leo. All three of them got ‘welcome.’ And then there was Carl and Markus, both recipients of ‘welcome home.’ Confirmation that they’d once again gotten back to their happy bubble.

Carl and Kamski’s tendency to unsettle unwelcome guests kicked in at different points. For Kamski, it was obvious from the moment his black rectangle of a house popped into view. Carl, meanwhile, kept the creepy shit inside. The animal skins. The android canaries that chirped in a slightly distorted manner. That bizarre chandelier with all the gilded babies on it.

How high had he been when he got that chandelier? Even Kamski had his limits.

Markus’ shirt with the obligatory brandings was hung up nearby, so he must have been home. Which meant that Carl was certainly home, too. Not that Kamski had expected otherwise. Kamski glanced around, then looked at Chloe.

Chloe had paused to look at her own reflection in the nearby mirror, properly examining the damage to her face. Afterwards, however, she glanced around as well.

“They’re in the studio,” she said. Kamski couldn’t hear it yet, but Chloe’s hearing far surpassed his own.

Kamski nodded, heading towards the studio. He knew the way better than he did to half the rooms in his own house. He had a tendency to mostly live in his workshop. Carl was much the same.

The doors to the studio slid open to reveal the messy workshop, a different yet similar type of messy to Kamski’s own. For all that there was more colours, more natural light and a significant lack of machinery apart from the crane that lifted Carl up to the tops of his canvas. But the splatters everywhere and the notes pinned to the walls, the tools of the trade scattered about, it made Kamski feel like he was at home.

Markus was in the corner rearranging the paints that Carl had left out when setting up his painter’s pad. Meanwhile, the man himself was on top of the crane, brush dabbing along the jawline of a face painted in orange and yellow hues.

“Didn’t you already paint this one?” Kamski asked, staring upwards.

“Well, I’m running out of ideas,” Carl grumbled. “Hello to you, too.”

“I liked the last one better. This one’s too saturated.”

Carl waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll either work itself out or some idiot’ll buy it anyway. Not like anyone actually cares about art these days.”

For all that he grumbled, Kamski knew Carl hated the mindless compliments more. People trying to suck up to them was one of the many things that Kamski and Carl had bonded over.

Since Kamski had started college at the tender age of twelve, there had always been those who saw he was going to get somewhere, or saw what he had, and wanted him to snap off a piece for them. His fellow students, his colleagues, then the technophiles that gazed with wonder at his early products. Not to mention his mother--his birth mother, not the current Mrs. Kamski who’d raised both him and Gavin--who had only ever tried to be part of his life once he was successful. Kamski rarely returned her calls, though he occasionally sent her money as a bribery so she’d leave him alone for a while.

He’d never bothered to censor his opinions on Carl’s work, not from the moment they met. For the most part, he did enjoy it. Carl had a real talent for facial features in particular, the precise reason that Kamski had hired him to design the faces that CyberLife still used to this day. On the flipside, Carl had no problem telling Kamski when he thought his ideas were utterly inane, and thus Kamski could trust when Carl thought he had a good one.

“Well, this can wait,” Carl said, putting his brush down and pressing the buttons to lower the crane. “Did I get the dates mixed up? I thought we weren’t due for our usual meet-up for another few days.”

“It wasn’t on the agenda today,” Markus said absently, still shuffling the paints around.

“What’s life without a little spontaneity?” Kamski asked.

“True--oh my god, what happened to you?” Carl, upon his chair being placed down by the crane, had immediately spotted Chloe’s face once he’d twirled his wheelchair around. “Chloe, your face!” He wheeled his chair forward towards her.

“Hello, Mr. Manfred. I’m functioning quite well, I assure you,” Chloe said. She tried to smile, although part of her face still wasn’t quite moving right yet.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

Chloe put the case down, then leaned down slightly so Carl could examine her, cupping her face and tilting it to examine the damage.

“Elijah, this wasn’t another of your stupider tests, was it?” Carl asked, giving Kamski a disapproving look. As he did, Markus walked over to watch what they were doing. His eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth twisted as his eyes ran over the damage.

“No.” Kamski paused before adding, “Well, it was. But it wasn’t an experiment on her. She was assisting me with something.”

Carl shook his head as he examined the damage, though he didn’t say any more words for a bit. Kamski supposed this would be like someone slashing a knife through one of his paintings. He hadn’t personally moulded the plastic that comprised of Chloe’s face, but the design had been his.

“Are you alright, Chloe?” Carl asked her, letting go of her face.

“I’m fine. There will be some marks remaining and my sight is not functioning at full capacity, but it could have been much worse. One inch further back and he could have hit my primary processors,” Chloe told him.

“He?”

“Speaking of which… I’ll be honest with you, Carl, my visit here did have an ulterior motive besides a good scotch and conversation.”

“What? Nooo. An ulterior motive? You?” Carl asked, the shock in his voice just as fake as the guilt in Kamski’s.

“I know, highly uncharacteristic of me. I wanted to examine Markus. Routine check-up, mostly. Check that he’s been functioning well with you. He’s very old by android standards, I want to check if he needs any updates.”

“Really. That explains the massive case.” Carl looked at the case Chloe had put down, then glanced over at Markus. Markus was still focused on the damage done to Chloe, frowning. “Should we discuss this elsewhere?”

“The main room’s fine. Scotch won’t hurt the proceedings, although any smoke might be bad for the equipment.”

They entered the main room, Markus pushing along Carl’s wheelchair, and Kamski sat down on the sofa by the coffee table without bothering to ask permission. Chloe started to unpack the machine--no discomfort at all even as she handled the headjack that so resembled the one that had been plunged into her face plate. Markus remained standing, taking a step to the side after wheeling Carl’s chair close in order to start pouring two scotches.

“So what’s your concern with Markus now, of all times?” Carl asked. “And does it have anything to do with the damage to Chloe’s face? Is this something you think Markus’ll start doing to people? Because if you think that--”

“You’d know better than I would, Carl. Would you expect that from him?” Kamski asked.

“Of course not! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and you’ve said and done a lot of stupid things over the years.”

“Not that many.”

Carl gave him a dubious look. “Do you not recall the time you tried to put in an AI as sophisticated as a normal android into a roomba with a knife strapped on it?”

Kamski waved his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t count, that was the night we first went to an absinthe bar and you know very well that I was drunk.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands in his lap as he turned his attention on Markus. “Markus, would you sit with me?”

Markus looked at Kamski, then turned his head towards Carl as he placed a glass of scotch by him. He raised his eyebrows wordlessly, and Carl shrugged back at him. A silent moment of communication before Markus sat down, placing the second glass of scotch by Kamski at the same time, although he kept some distance once he was done. Kamski didn’t push into Markus’ space.

“So, Markus… have you suffered any glitches lately? Any problems you want me to focus on? Any instability?” Kamski asked, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Markus said. “Occasional moments of distraction, perhaps.”

“Flashbacks? Interruptions?” Kamski pressed.

“He saw a bird outside the window while getting my breakfast and got distracted,” Carl clarified, before he took a sip of his scotch.

“Burnt the bacon,” Markus said ruefully

“Nice bird?”

“Pretty nice. Unusual for the area.”

Kamski nodded absently before he leaned back more on the sofa, resting his arm over the back of it. “Alright, so… regarding this test. I want to map out your program and see if any significant changes have occurred since I gave you to Carl.”

“What… kind of changes?” Markus asked slowly.

“I’d be curious about any. But I cannot promise that the process will be… pleasant. I could deactivate you for the duration if you would find it more comfortable. And… Carl, I would need your word.” Kamski glanced over at Carl, whose eyes had narrowed. “If we go through with this, you cannot interfere. I can only maintain control if the connection isn’t broken.”

Carl’s mouth tightened. “That sounds invasive, Elijah. Especially with--” He gestured at the sharp needles extending from the machine.

“It’s much like a brain positron emission tomography scan for humans,” Kamski said, hoping that Carl didn’t think to ask him how a brain PET scan actually worked because he’d just tried to google metaphors on his phone on the way there. “Just more thought-based.”

“Markus. You don’t have to agree to this,” Carl said, raising a hand. Markus, however, was staring at Kamski with mild interest.

“Would I be able to see my own thoughts?”

“Not in the moment of the scanning, though there would be some re-experiencing of memory potentially. I’d be willing to show you the results, however.”

“That sounds interesting...” Markus then looked at Carl. “Would you prefer me not to, Carl?”

“I’m saying do not let Elijah pressure you into it. You have to make the choice on your own.” Carl looked at Chloe, gesturing at his own face around where the scars were. “So that happened because…?

“Because someone broke the connection at an inopportune time, and the subject responded in a violent fashion.

“Will Chloe be doing it this time, too? I don’t want to hurt her,” Markus said, eyeing the damage.

“She would be, but if the connection isn’t broken then nothing should go wrong. Besides, that particular RK had other instabilities that I don’t expect to find in you, Markus.”

Markus watched Chloe for a few moments longer. Chloe, in return, tried to smile reassuringly at him. Much like with Carl, half her mouth wouldn’t move correctly thanks to the damage, giving her a lopsided appearance. Markus finally broke his gaze to look back at Kamski.

“Do I have to be deactivated for it?”

“That’s up to you.”

Markus only hesitated for a moment longer. “I’d prefer to be awake. What do I have to do?”

Chloe gestured for Markus to get to his feet, moving to the side of the machine. Kamski also got to his feet, rounding the machine to start up the various screens. A few keystrokes, and the mechanical arms twitched to life.

“All you have to do is stay still, Markus.”

Chloe took Markus by the arm and led him into position, turning him around so that his back was to the machine. The headjack and backjack--Kamski hadn’t come up with a better name and had been watching the Matrix at the time of their invention--moved into place, lining up where the ports would be on Markus.

Chloe, with some blinking from her LED that indicated a transmission, reached over to touch the back of Markus’ neck, causing the skin to pull back and reveal the port. The headjack immediately slotted into place, causing a twitch that ran down Markus’ spine. There was a hiss as he scrunched up his nose, eyes shutting for a moment.

“Markus?! Are you alright?” Carl asked, wheeling his chair to be in front of Markus. Immediately, one of his hands reached out. But Markus raised his own.

“I’m fine.” His voice was distorted, losing some of its humanity in favor of the mechanical whir that was produced if an android had no voice installed.

“Are you sure--”

“I’m sure.”

Carl retreated back to beside the coffee table. He picked up his scotch again, but didn’t sip it. He only watched with apprehension.

The backjack slid into place once that port was revealed, causing another series of twitches. Then Chloe synced herself up with the machine, and wordlessly offered Markus her hand. Markus took it without hesitation, and Chloe cupped his hand with both of hers before their hands turned white and data started to stream across the screens.

Markus’ LED flashed red for a brief moment, nose scrunching up at the sudden feeling of invasion. Unlike with Connor, however, his LED quickly switches to yellow and starts blinking steadily. His face relaxes slightly, though there are traces of discomfort.

Kamski can read the quickly scrolling data like it’s his first language. He realises almost immediately that he’s correct in his prediction. Markus is significantly more stable than Connor. However, there are heavy changes to the programming that Markus consists of.

He can see the garden underneath it. The skeleton of it that has developed into something new, splaying out from the blueprint. Not in the haphazard, fragmented way of a deviant. Markus compared to Connor was like a carefully shaped bonsai tree compared to someone throwing a handful of mint and weeds in a pot and hacking at it with scissors to try and keep it in check.

“Chloe. Examine that memory, would you?” Kamski says, as he sees one of the new additions to the data spiralling out from the rest.

It’s an utterly mundane memory. It’s him and Carl inside a bookshop. Carl’s looking through the books, and he’s telling Markus to look around and pick something. “Surprise me.”

Kamski quickly closes the memory, continuing on. Examines another spiral, and another.

Mundane moments. They almost all involve Carl. Focusing on paints and books and the melody of a piano. The new additions follow similar patterns, and weave seamlessly back into the program. Not like Connor, whose program was jagged and shattered. A mess of conflicts surrounding a void where nothing wanted to grow.

There are parts of Markus’ program that start to splay off in a rougher way, though still weaving back into the program at the end, not being prevented from following their logical course. Memories of people holding signs, other people pushing around their androids, observations of the unfairness of a society. Interweaving with Carl once more after a while, telling him that the world’s just wrong and depressing, that it hates what is different.

Thoughts. Whys.

Whys that were allowed to grow in Markus’ mind, rather than being hacked away like in Connor’s.

No AI to guide him. But he hadn’t needed an AI. Not when he had Carl.

“Well, Carl, you’ll be happy to know that I think I left him with the right person,” Kamski said, smiling slightly. “This will be complete in a moment, but I haven’t seen anything to be concerned about.”

He eyes the stress counter at the corner of his screen. It had gone upwards at the start with that red flash, but even then it had only ever hit 45%. Now it hovered in the thirties. Not content, but certainly as content as an android could expect to be in this situation. However, even as the scan continued, a few extra spirals extended out right at the end of the program, forming even as Kamski scanned. Each had a brief, temporary boost in stress before fading down.

Kamski checked one of those.

A maddened android with deep brown eyes, bringing the headjack down at the viewpoint of the memory.

“Chloe, try to keep a grip on your own memories,” Kamski said quietly.

“I’m sorry, but he was inquisitive,” Chloe said.

Carl eyed Kamski’s screens. When he saw the footage of Connor, as witnessed by Chloe, his eyebrows scrunched together but he said nothing.

When Chloe completed the scan, the stress went back down to the twenties. It would likely continue to descend. The head and back jacks were removed with unsettling clicking noises, pulling back into the machine.

“Markus? Can you hear me?” Kamski asked as Chloe pulled her hand away, the flesh on both their hands returning to their natural tones.

Markus took a moment to respond. During that moment, Carl shifted forward with a worried expression on his face.

“Yes,” Markus finally said. LED blinking back to blue. As he did, Carl let out a relieved sigh. He finally sipped the scotch once more.

“Was that unpleasant for you?” Kamski questioned.

“It wasn’t… pleasant, exactly. I can understand why the last subject might not have appreciated it,” Markus said slowly. “I don’t quite know how to explain it.”

“It’s likely beyond the realm of easy human description, so I can understand that. It wasn’t too intrusive?”

“No. I like Chloe. I don’t mind talking to her. Perhaps if it had been someone I didn’t know, I would have found it more… aggravating.”

“Also fair. Would you like to see your mind?”

Markus shifted a little closer to Kamski, peering at the screen. Meanwhile, Kamski picked up his own scotch and had a sip. Markus stared for a good thirty seconds.

“I have no idea what this means,” he finally said.

“Interesting!” Kamski said brightly. “Understandable, but interesting! You know, someone once said that if we had the power to understand our own minds, that our minds would be so simple that we wouldn’t be able to understand them at all.”

“Can you understand it?” Markus asked.

“Yes, but I’m a genius.”

Carl coughed and muttered, “The roomba?”

“Didn’t count--”

“The time you tried to make a breakfast machine because you’d just watched Back to the Future, even though Chloe knows perfectly well how to cook.”

“She has better things to do and that wasn’t a complete failure.”

“There was enough bread to feed a family of ten stuck on the roof of your kitchen,” Carl said dryly.

“I had to refine the trajectory of the toaster.”

“What about the attempt to put security programs into my canaries? The voice boxes still aren’t fixed after the attempt at installing alarms.”

“Drunk.”

“You’d had one nip of scotch, you were not drunk.”

Markus was silent for this. His eyes were on Chloe, lingering on the scars once more. Carl watched Markus, the argument over Kamski’s intelligence fading as he did so.

“Markus? Are you alright?”

Markus snapped out of it after a moment. “I’m fine, Carl.”

“The scan didn’t--”

“No, it didn’t damage me. I think I might need a few minutes to reach optimal functionality again, if you don’t mind me leaving you with Elijah?”

“Oh. Of course I don’t mind. Do you need fresh air or--”

“I was considering the piano,” Markus interrupted. “Helps me clear my thoughts.”

“May I listen? I quite enjoy the piano. I don’t have the ability to play it,” Chloe said brightly.

“I could use some fresh air, actually,” Kamski said. “I haven’t left the workroom a lot recently and the old noodle smell was getting somewhat intense.”

“A billionaire and you’re still eating like a poor college student,” Carl muttered.

“Fuels the brain cells.”

“Whatever you say.” Carl wheeled his chair towards the doors to the garden, but stopped by Markus and carefully touched his upper arm. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Carl. It’s temporary lag. I’m fine,” Markus said. His tone seemed casual but slightly resigned, as if they’d had similar conversations so many times that he’d gotten a little tired of it.

“Tell me if you think otherwise, okay?”

“Okay, Carl.”

Kamski gripped Carl’s wheelchair and started wheeling him in place of Markus as they entered the garden. Well-groomed, with grey statues and well-manicured lawns. Back to the classy aesthetic, the unsettling insides of the house harder to distinguish as they moved past the pink flowers. They walked further from the house in silence. Kamski glanced back through the windowed back doors and saw Markus taking a seat at the piano. Chloe moving to stand beside him and watch.

“Is he actually alright?” Carl asked.

“Should be. It certainly went a lot better than last time,” Kamski said.

“Looking at Chloe’s face, I don’t imagine that was hard. Elijah, not to put the brakes on some of your more interesting ideas… but you really have no sense of how not to harm people in the process.”

“Carl, have you no faith in me?”

“Absolutely none,” Carl said, straight-faced.

“Would that be why you’ve been doing work for CyberLife behind my back?” Kamski teased.

Carl had his scotch halfway to his mouth at that, but lowered it. He looked away, mouth tightening.

“I’m not angry. I always thought you quitting was a bone-headed piece of solidarity,” Kamski continued. “But I saw your face when I streamed Chloe’s memory of Connor. You designed his face, didn’t you? Either that or you were having an uncomfortable bowel movement.”

Carl hesitated, though that same sour expression appeared on his face.

“She wouldn’t stop calling me,” he said stiffly. “It was getting irritating, and she was a step away from turning up at my doorstep. The last thing I need is for Markus to meet her.”

“Did she say what she wanted another face for?”

“No. Just a lot of schmoozy bullshit. ‘Carl, dear, you know I’m a big fan of your work, blah blah blah.’ Something about how I was letting a personal grudge on your behalf get in the way--”

“You were,” Kamski interrupted.

“Well, I also just plain don’t like her. But after the twentieth phone call, I designed a face just to make her go away.”

“Were the eyes her idea?” Kamski asked slyly.

“What do you think?” Carl asked. A smile curved across his face as he nodded back at the house, to where the television would be. “I did notice during the incident in August that she changed the eyes on the next one. But I say it’s fair play after the face she put on her RK500.”

Kamski let out a small huff of a laugh. “Ah yes. ‘You just have a common face, Elijah.’”

“So.” Carl spun his chair around, so he could look Kamski properly in the eyes. “What is she using my design for? I saw the news. Are you running tests on deviant hunters now?”

Kamski wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “No. Connor’s not a deviant hunter, or wasn’t implemented properly for the purpose. I also don’t think it started as one. But all my theories are that. Theories.”

Elijah started to explain in a little more detail, but he cropped out anything about Gavin’s preferred serial killer hobbies. He’d tell Carl nearly everything, but that was something that Carl wouldn’t take well. He talked like Connor just had overly vicious tactics for carrying out the law. It was something that he’d said about Gavin before, too.

“It sounds like you should get the RK800 out of your brother’s custody, then,” Carl said, after a moment of consideration, once Elijah stopped for breath.

“Who’s going to raise him if Gavin doesn’t? Would you consider sending him back to CyberLife a good idea? With her?”

Carl wrinkled his nose and made that sour expression again.

“Exactly,” Kamski said. “Besides, at this stage if the DPD catches on they’ll deactivate him. It might just be a learning curve. It’s not as if you were ever the perfect father.”

“Wow. Low blow, Elijah. ...Perhaps true, but a low blow,” Carl muttered.

“How is Leo, by the way?”

Carl grimaced and turned his chair around, wheeling it towards one of the tall, grey statues for some shade. “He said he’s going to rehab. I’m having my doubts.”

“Why don’t you go with him?” Kamski suggested.

“I never had patience for sitting in the circle sharing my sob stories about drugs. All it made me want to do was take more after listening to so many depressing stories about it,” Carl grumbled. “Might work for him eventually, but it doesn’t work on me. Also, until you get a proper hold on your emotions and familial bonds then you don’t have any right to give advice on mine.”

“We both know that’s never going to happen,” Kamski said dismissively.

“Checkmate, then.”

Carl looked back through the windowed door. Markus had shifted over on the piano seat, and Chloe had taken a seat next to him. Markus was now clearly directing her to play a simple piano tune. From this view, they were framed by the chess set that Carl kept by the window.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with Markus,” Carl said quietly. “I mean… what to set up for him for once I’m gone. One day I’m not going to be able to take care of him anymore.”

“Well--” Kamski started.

“I know what you want to do with him. The world’s not ready for that, Elijah. It’s not going to accept the idea of living, thinking robots. Another decade or two, maybe, but--”

“There won’t be a decade or two,” Kamski interrupted. “Change doesn’t politely wait in the wings for the world to be ready for it. And there’s a lot of androids out there that aren’t so lucky to have an owner like you.”

“Would you be including Chloe in that?”

Kamski’s eyes lingered on Chloe for a moment. From their view, her bad eye couldn’t be seen.

“Perhaps,” he finished. “There’s a significant chance any revolution might just result in my house being burned down.”

“You’d deserve it,” Carl said bluntly.

“Oh, I know.” Kamski took a sip of the scotch he was still holding. “So you won’t be sending Markus back to me when you pass on, then?”

“I don’t trust you to take care of him. I trust you to carry on with your plans, no matter who gets caught in the crossfire. And I might have agreed with that once, but…" Carl's eyes lingered on Markus as he stared through the window. "Well, now I’m fond of Markus. I’d like to keep him safe for as long as I can.”

“So, given your health…” Kamski drained his scotch. “A week, maybe a month if we're really lucky?”

“Quite probably,” Carl said casually.

“In that case, we better enjoy at least one more drink," Kamski said cheerfully.

Carl snorted. “That is one thing we can both agree on.”

They turned to head back indoors, hearing the faint sounds of piano as Markus tried to teach Chloe how to play a gentle piano piece that perfectly matched the fairytale aesthetics of their surroundings, and clashed with the amount of dead animals and bizarre, unsettling furniture filling the inside of the house.


	17. The Smell Of Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin goes to look for a new victim in the DPD database, and has a confrontation with Fowler along the way. And his chosen new victim leads him and Connor somewhere with a lot of sticky memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: WARNING, this is the chapter where the non-consensual parts start to become much more evident. They aren't heavily detailed, and I've tried to keep them non-graphic, but be wary of any italicized memory segments in this part if you're particularly uncomfortable. It will be easy to see possibly sexually disturbing memories coming.
> 
> And, because I forgot to link last time, more fanart by AwkwardAnonymous/SofaSketches: https://twitter.com/SofaSketches/status/1180128635639877632 Go look! Much pretty!

Gavin didn’t have a victim lined up. That meant he had two options.

The first was going into the phone that Connor had stolen, or the data he’d hoarded, to find another drug dealer to kill. But that carried a severe risk with both Ward and Todd dead, even more so with Todd’s body left for the cops to find. There was a good chance any associates had realised someone was hunting them down and put their guard up.

The other was browsing the archives at work and finding a suitable victim that had been out of the cop’s eye for a while. But that meant going back to the DPD.

It was the lesser of two issues. After some consideration and a significant amount of arguing, Gavin headed back alone.   


Connor had been opposed.

“I should return to work. I’m functional now,” Connor had said. Despite his words, his LED had still been heavily yellow and occasionally flickering into red, although there had been regular patches of blue.

“Fuck off, you’re staying there. As far as the DPD knows, you’re still being repaired by Eli. You’re gonna make me look like an idiot.”

That’s what Gavin’s excuse had been. Honestly, though, no-one should go back to work on the same day that they had a meltdown, stabbed someone and almost self-destructed in the process. Even if they were a toaster. Gavin sure as fuck wouldn’t use a toaster that had just pulled a knife on him.

As Gavin strolled back into the DPD, one of the ST300 receptionists noticed him and called out.

“Detective Reed? I passed your message to Captain Fowler. He wants to see you immediately,” she said pleasantly.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m still off for the day!” Gavin groaned as he walked past, not even breaking his stride.

“I don’t think he’ll take that as an excuse,” the ST300 said, though her voice remained cheerful.

“Fuck,” Gavin grumbled.

As he entered the bullpen, he almost immediately ran into Tina and her beat partner, Officer Robert Lewis, a massive man in both height and weight. Gavin had seen him in a bar brawl once--he’d been brought along to one of his and Tina’s trips out--and he couldn’t move fast but damn was he a brick wall in a fight. They were both near the water cooler, holding cups. The moment Tina saw him, she winced.

“You are in fucking trouble,” she said. Then her eyes went to the patches on his face. “...How the fuck did you do that on a lunch break?”

“You’re on my case, too?” Gavin snapped. “I had a fucking legitimate reason, T!”   


“A legitimate reason to fuck police equipment?” Lewis said doubtfully.

“No, for taking the day--” Gavin, already halfway to retorting, stopped. He paused, eyes squinted and looking between the two beat cops, before the implications hit him. “...Shit, what did Hank say?”

“Oh my god, it’s fucking true,” Tina groaned. “I thought we were kidding about you sticking your dick there!”

“He told you and you’re still surprised?” Lewis asked, giving Tina a perplexed look.

“I didn’t fucking say--god, fuck, what’d Hank say, T? Seriously?”

Tina gestured with her cup of water towards Fowler’s office. “Enough to the big man.”

Fuck.

“...And how loud was it?” Gavin asked after a moment.

“Loud enough that I heard it from the breakroom. Lieutenant Anderson’s voice sure carries,” Tina said sheepishly. She gave Gavin a pat on the shoulder. “There, there, plastic fucker.”

“Shut up, T. Fuck.” Gavin flipped Tina off before heading towards Fowler’s office, with a sudden sense of walking the last mile to the gallows. He didn’t know if it was imagination… but more people seemed to watch him as he crossed the bullpen than usual.

The only one who didn’t even look up was Hank, who was seated at his desk and staring moodily at the computer screen. Abnormally focused on it, whether to ignore Gavin or simply being in one of those moods. Gavin scoffed under his breath as he stomped up the steps to Fowler’s office.

Gavin pushed open the door, remained in the doorway and snapped, “I’m trying to deal with an emergency, Fowler, fuck!”

“Sit the fuck down, Reed.” Fowler jabbed his pen in the direction of the chair in front of his desk. “That’s not a request. Sit!”

Gavin shuffled on his feet with frustration, scowling, before he flopped into the seat. He slung one arm over the back and glared at Fowler, finding it easier to stew in anger rather than embarrassment.

“First off.” Fowler dropped the pen back into that weird pencil holder shaped like a fist. “You can’t just take the day off without asking me. You’re a fucking detective and crime doesn’t stop when you want time off. But, honestly, that’s the least of my concern right now.” He leaned forward on the desk and gave Gavin a suspicious look. “How did Connor get damaged, Reed?”

“He didn’t get damaged. He’s on the fritz. You know how computers get buggy,” Gavin said, shrugging. “Just needs a replacement part and he’ll be fine.”

“He was working fine when he left the DPD to, apparently, go to lunch with you. What happened to your face?”

Gavin paused before he said, “I fought Hank in a bar a couple of days ago.”

“During your lunch break, Reed! You know very well what I meant!” Fowler snapped, brandishing an open hand in his direction. “What happened on your lunch break? Because Connor’s never broken down before.

“Then he’s long overdue for his caches to be cleared or whatever the fuck! I got some pizza, he started fritzing and broke one of my car windows--I’m fine, by the way, thanks for asking--so I took him to Eli to fix,” Gavin huffed. He leaned back more, staring at the ceiling, before he said, “Can you just get to the embarrassing part?”

“I’ll assume Officer Chen was eavesdropping,” Fowler muttered.

“Apparently your voice fucking carries, asshole! You hear about confidentiality and shit?” Gavin snapped.

“And did you hear about not sticking your dick in a ceiling fan?!”

Gavin groaned, still staring at the ceiling, before he leaned forward, resting one arm on his leg. “Anderson say that? You know he just wants his placebo son back.”

“Yes. Hank did say that. And whatever tension you two have, I’ve known Hank a long time. I know, no matter how much he hates someone, that he doesn’t throw accusations around lightly. Not ones like this.”

Gavin sighed, mouth twisting. Considering whether to keep up the denial or admit at least some of the truth, the pros and cons of each part. But, as much as hiding shit was a regular part of his life, he was also not one for lying if he didn’t have to. If he lied now, and got caught again… well, he’d just get scrutinized harder.

“Alright, alright. Once. But Connor offered, I didn’t go ‘suck me off’ out of nowhere. He thought it’d increase my work efficiency or something. Android talk, you know? Not my fault he thought that was a good idea, or that mentioning it to Hank was appropriate.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Reed, I didn’t think I needed to worry about this with you… I thought you hated androids!” Fowler covered his face for a moment, letting out the wearied sigh of an exhausted parent whose children have just put firecrackers down the toilet for the fifth time, before gesturing angrily with tensed fingers. “I don’t know how to explain this and make it more obvious to you, Reed… but you don’t have sex with police equipment! It’s not made for that!”

“Then why did it offer?!”

“Honestly, I have no idea! Maybe that’s the socialization bug! Whatever the reason, do the obvious thing and say no to any more goddamn blowjobs! You want to fuck an android? Go and visit Eden Club like every other sad fuck and keep it behind closed doors!”

“But I don’t want to fuck androids, I just--”

Gavin stopped himself, realising he was about to blurt out ‘I just want to fuck that one.’ He paused, face paling as that realization really hit him.   


He suspects that Fowler heard the words he didn’t say, judging by how his eyebrows scrunch together. He sighed, then clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward.

“You have been removing Connor from the premises a lot, Gavin.”

Oh fuck. First name basis.

“Hey, half the time he just breaks into my car on his own,” Gavin grumbled.

“I’ll admit there’s been some positive results. Your paperwork has gotten more thorough, your reports quicker. I don’t have to fight you on actually listening to it anymore. And I know the coroners under-utilize it. That is the only reason I’ve let this go on. But, Gavin, this is something you need to understand for both your own sake and that of the DPD." Fowler's tone wasn't abrasive. It was oddly sympathetic. "Connor is police equipment. He’s not a buddy. He’s definitely not a fuck-buddy.”

“You given this buddy speech to Hank yet?” Gavin asked, eyes narrowed

“...Actually, I have. About an hour before you got back.”

“And?” Gavin pushed.

“Reed, this meeting isn’t about him. It’s about you.”

That meant that Hank had probably told Fowler to get fucked.

“I’m giving you one more chance. Which is honestly more than you deserve, especially after taking the day off and telling me to get fucked,” Fowler said.

“I didn’t say--”

“The receptionist told me that you had other concerns. Don’t think I don’t know what you actually said.

“Okay, in my defence, I said you could suck my dick, not that you could get fucked. Those are two completely different insults,” Gavin grumbled.

Fowler paused, before sighing and rubbing his eyes. “Thanks for the honesty. But in any case… you want to hold on to Connor? You better keep it professional. Got it?”

“Got it,” Gavin sighed. “Can I go now?”

“Fine. Get the fuck out of my office.” Fowler picked up his pen again before he added, “And I will be inquiring to Connor about his ‘fritzing.’”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Gavin stomped back out of the room and towards his desk. He passed Officer Person and Officer Brown on the way, who both watched him pass with mixed expressions of amusement and disgust.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Gavin snapped, and they both tried to pretend like they weren’t staring. “That’s what I thought.”

Shit. Shiiiit.

Gavin flopped down into his chair and immediately planted his face into the surface on the desk. He remained there for a few moments, trying his best not to scream. The itch jittering down his spine, and images of the asshole lieutenant that had outed him tied to the slab flashing through his brain like a broken television set.

But this didn’t really change anything.

He still needed a kill. He needed to soothe his jitters. And Connor needed a kill, too

The fact that Fowler knew what they’d done in the shower didn’t change that.

So, finally, Gavin lifted his head and picked up his tablet, scrolling through the old cases even as he made sure any current cases were uploaded to the tablet so that he could take them home. Several files in, there was one that made him pause.

Not so much because the crimes on it were anything unusual, or because the man himself was. He had money and got away with his crimes due to a combination of a good lawyer and being an upstanding citizen of the community. A family man. And his accusers kept abruptly dropping the cases. But the nature of his crimes combined with a location that he’d been known to frequent...

Well, Fowler had told him to visit Eden Club.   


He gathered the files needed to do both his job and his extracurriculars for the night and got up to leave again. As he did, he noticed that Hank was back to watching him. A suspicious squint directed at him as he left the precinct.

Gavin just flipped him off. He had better things to think about.

* * *

“I have questions.”

“When do you not have questions?” Gavin grumbled.

Despite his grumbling, Gavin’s mood swung upwards. If Connor was bouncing back to being an incessantly questioning annoyance, then it meant he was probably in a good mood. Or in good functionality. Status. Whatever the fuck an android had instead of a mood.

Gavin couldn’t tell what state his LED would be in, as he’d once again pried it off for his human disguise. But he had the stress dial on his phone still, hovering at a steady 57%. Not good, but functional.

Connor was gazing out the window at the neon lights of Eden Club, the pinks and purples bouncing off his glasses. He had shunned Hank’s hoodie today. Instead, he had borrowed one of Gavin’s leather jackets. Gavin was not giving the look any sideways glances. Nope. None at all.

“Mr. Graham has visited Eden Club multiple times. A vent for sadistic urges that cannot be vented legally on a human.”

“Presumably,” Gavin said absently. “We don’t have any proof of what he does in there--discretion and all that--and the visits are only in his file because his lawyer brought it up as ‘if he can afford to vent his fantasies here, not that he has such violent urges, why would he vent them on actual people?’”

“That is my question. Why risk the charges of rape and battery against a human--especially seven times--

“Must have been a damn good lawyer,” Gavin muttered under his breath.

“--when androids exist as a legal alternative?” Connor asked. “I don’t understand the logic.”

Gavin shrugged, eyeing the club. “I guess the reactions aren’t real enough. I can understand that.” Hurriedly he added, “Not in, y’know, that way. I got fucking standards, I’m not a damn rapist. But I know blue blood never satisfied me. It always had to be red. You getting anything from surveillance?”

Connor’s eyelids flickered slightly before he held out his hand. A hologram appeared of a nearby street corner.

“His car passes by the nearby street corner each week. Varying times. Usually in the busier hours. I suppose the logic is less people will notice him if there’s too many people around for anyone to notice him specifically. No cameras are directed at the entrance of the actual club.”

“Figures. Goddamn discretion bullshit,” Gavin grumbled.

Discretion wasn’t all bad, though. It meant that, if they had a good enough idea of the layout, that it was possibly a really good location to corner him in. No cameras meant no evidence, and Graham wouldn’t want to announce to people, especially his family, when he was here.

But they weren’t going to get anywhere unless they got inside the actual club. There was no way to scout otherwise without cameras. Gavin was really hoping there was some CCTV there. Or that they were lucky enough to spot the actual victim. Otherwise, they’d probably have to just hang out there every day for a week hoping he’d turn up.

“Come on. Let’s see what all the hype is about, while we’re here.”

Gavin climbed out of the car, though not before tugging up the hood of his jacket and trying to obscure his face a little. Crime or not, he did not want to be seen here. The only plus was that anyone noticing him here wouldn’t want to highlight the fact that they were also here.   


Connor followed suit behind him, similarly pulling up his hood. A disheveled college student, the disguise enhanced by the fact that, to Gavin, he looked almost tired. But then ruined by the fact that he kept pausing for the briefest moments, almost like he was lagging. Whenever he did, if Gavin was checking his phone at the time he saw the stress level go up a percent or two before going back down.

Gavin hoped his gut feeling that murder would fix this was right.

Walking through the front doors didn’t feel very discreet. All the bright lights made Gavin feel exposed. The vivid pinks of the advertisements glowing on either side of them, showing pictures of lips, asses, hands touching bodies. This glowing tunnel of ads opened into a room that was split by a black stripe on the floor that led to the next glass door. On either side of them were three glass pods with glowing panels next to them, each one holding a different android. Unusually pretty models, even for androids, and they were all casually stretching or posing in alluring manners in their tubes, keeping their eyes on Gavin and Connor as they passed with expressions of simulated lust.

“Anything?” Gavin asked, mouth barely moving as he tried to casually glance around, looking for any signs of cameras.

“Nothing,” Connor said quietly. “Full discretion.”

Fuck.

As they passed through the current chamber and entered the main part of the club, Gavin cast an eye around for their main man and saw nothing. Though it’d be hard to tell at this view. The club was, indeed, fairly crowded. Some hiding their faces, some not. The lighting was dimmer than in the main hall, so Gavin felt a little less exposed. Besides, the attention wasn’t on him. The attention was on the androids. In most places, androids tended to blend into the background. Cogs in a machine. Here they were the center of attention.

Gavin glanced sideways at Connor to see that his eyebrows were scrunching together slightly. Gavin eyed him, then glanced down at his phone. The stress had ticked up to 61%.

“What’s--”

Gavin was interrupted--not only in his speaking, but his thoughts stuttering to a halt as well--as Connor quickly shifted closer to him and encircled an arm around his own.

“...What the fuck?

Connor said nothing. Gavin couldn’t really question him on it, either. Not when they were surrounded by people. So he just went with it, trying to ignore the fact that Connor’s arms around his own was making his face feel a little warm.

About half the tubes in the room were empty, the others being examined by potential customers. Others were dancing on stage, twirling and showing off the goods. As they wandered, Connor tilted his head slightly. Mouth twisting thoughtfully.

His stress ticked down to 55%… then rocketed up to 71%.

“Stop it!” Gavin hissed.

“Hire someone,” Connor whispered, glancing around.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Goddammit. I’m not going to--”

“You won’t have to. Trust me, Detective.”

Gavin would have retorted that he didn’t trust plastic at all, but that would have been a dead giveaway to anyone close enough to listen. Besides, that was a debatable truth these days.

After a game of eenie meenie minie mo--because honestly, none of the plastic in this room was doing it for him, only confirmation of the fact that his boner for plastic was for one target only--he picked the android with the Asian male design. Gavin pressed his hand to the scanner that processed his payment, hoping desperately that Eden Club wasn’t keeping a record of his name now, and the android stepped out.

“Delighted to meet you. Follow me. I’ll take you to your room,” the android said, offering a hand. His arm was decorated with a smattering of glitter, that seemed to be a put-on effect of the synthetic skin itself.   


Gavin stared dubiously at the hand, then looked at Connor. Connor nodded very slightly.

“Alright, uh… lead on,” Gavin muttered, waving vaguely and not taking the android’s hand. The android waited for a moment, hand still extended. Its eyes then flickered between Gavin and Connor before it retracted his hand.

“Follow me,” it repeated, strutting off towards one of the available rooms. It opened when it approached, and it waited by the side for them to enter the room. Connor pulled Gavin forward when his feet briefly failed him, and the android followed them in with the door sliding shut with a click behind them.

Connor immediately let go of Gavin’s arm, something that Gavin was vaguely disappointed by. Meanwhile, the android approached the bed and sat down on it, lounging back slightly in a way that looked very artificial despite the attempt to convey a sexy casualness.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Okay, I don’t want anything done--” Gavin started.

“If you would prefer to watch, I can pour you a drink to enjoy while you do so,” the android said cheerfully. It turned towards Connor with a smile. “Since you were guiding your partner’s choice, can I assume--”

“No, I don’t want to watch!” Gavin protested. “Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t initialize the Traci programming,” Connor said quickly. “We just want to talk.”

“Okay, what the fuck is Traci programming?”

“The Traci program, named for the primary type of android it’s implemented in. Traci serves as the default name for any android with tasks that revolve around sexual activity. The program provides instructions on how to engage in coitus and dictates the response to sexual stimulation. Correct?” Connor directed the last word at the android.

“Correct,” the android said. “You may call me Traci, if you like. Though I am also allowed to temporarily overwrite my name if you would like to call me something else.”

“Uh… I’m good?” Gavin groaned, covering his face.

“Some other models of android possess the same programs, myself included,” Connor added.

“Don’t say that in front of--”

“I am not allowed to report any crimes that occur in front of me,” Traci said cheerfully. “Up to and including the absence of branding on another android.”

“Discretion has its advantages,” Connor said. He walked over before hoisting himself up and sitting on the nearby table, the most oddly human behavior Gavin could recall him exhibiting. “Traci, we aren’t here to engage in coitus. We’re undercover cops investigating a criminal.”

Gavin spluttered before hissing, “Why?!”

“As such, I would like permission to examine your memories,” Connor finished.

“That would be a violation of our policies regarding discretion,” Traci said immediately. “I must decline. Would you like to have sex now?”

“No, thank you. You may go,” Connor said. “Have a good night.”

The android blinked a couple of times, then got up and left the room. The door closed behind it, leaving Gavin and Connor alone. Gavin covered his face in his hands for a moment, then clasped them together with his fingers pressing to his lips for a moment before staring at Connor with disbelief.

“You made me spend thirty dollars just for that?”

“I assumed we didn’t have time for coitus.”

“That’s not the part that’s a problem!” Gavin whined.

“Club policy is to remove memories every two hours. Unless Mr. Graham has been seen by this android within those two hours, then there won’t be a specific memory I can recover,” Connor said. He was jiggling one of his hands nervously for a few moments as he spoke, but then he reached into the pocket of the leather jacket and retrieved a quarter, and started to play with it instead.

“So what’s even the fucking point?!”

“The point is that they still have a database of client memory. Placeholders. Humans have short attention spans and elaborate desires. They don’t want to reteach their fantasies to the same android anew every time. So they build a profile of the client. No name, nothing that could link them to an identity… but they’ll remember some key feature--a voice, an appearance or phrase, a name the client uses for them--and use it to trigger information on the preferences of the client, and keep a form of the sexual activity recorded to refer to. They would use something similar to recall their way around the club, to know what dances and poses pull in the most customers… they can’t be wiped clean or they’d forget how to do their job. It’s not unique to them.” Connor turned the coin over his fingers again. Then he raised the coin. “Do you think I remember being taught how to do this?”

Gavin sat down. Or tried to, but the closest surface was the bed and he wasn’t prepared for how plush the bed was. He immediately sunk into it and flailed for a second, trying not to fall backwards, before sitting up and trying to pretend nothing had happened. His mind distantly wondered how many asses had hit this bed recently.

“So… it’s like being a sleeper agent, but for sex.”

Connor’s eyes slid to the side for a moment as he considered this, before he said, “Essentially.” He flipped the coin up, catching it between two fingers, and slid it back into his pocket

“Alright. Okay, that explains the memory checking, but…” Gavin leaned forward. “You gotta ask? You gotta tell them everything before telling them ‘thank you, have a nice day’ and just letting them fuckin’ wander off? Letting them blab?”

“I would prefer to ask,” Connor said stiffly.

“Why? They ain’t gonna remember it in two hours anyway, you said it yourself.”

“Because I do not want anyone to self-destruct while interfacing with them.”

“They’re not gonna. Androids don’t even have stress levels unless they’re deviants or they’re RKs. Eli told me.”

“Deviants are very hard to find. I won’t know until it’s too late.”

“Oh, god,” Gavin muttered. “So what? We’re going to just go around asking every android in the building?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“God, okay, so first off: how much money do you think I have?” Gavin groaned, staring at the ceiling.

“Your brother is Elijah Kamski,” Connor said flatly.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to send him this bill. I really fucking don’t. And more importantly, do you not see the Catch 22 here?” Gavin clambered off the bed with some difficulty, paddling his arms through the air to gain the momentum to get to his feet, before gesturing to one side of him. “If they’re not deviant, they’re going to say it’s against club policy and refuse.” He gestured to his other side. “If they’re deviant, they’re not going to want you crawling about in their heads in case you tattle on them, and they’ll still refuse.” Gavin spread out his hands, balancing them like they were a wobbly scale. “You see what I’m getting at?”

“Then what are my options?

“Either check their memories anyway or find a better plan.”

“The androids are the only form of surveillance this establishment has,” Connor said.

“Then it’s Option A, ain’t it?” Gavin shrugged. “Besides, if they’re deviant then they probably need to be put down before they kill someone anyway. And a non-deviant won’t explode either way.”

Connor averted his gaze, staring at the floor. Kicking his feet a little from his seat on the table. The lights were still glinting off the glasses and the blond hair, playing over his pale skin. Highlighting just how uncomfortable his expression was.

Gavin sighed. He walked over to the table, turned and leaned against it. Looking Connor in the face as much as he could

“You wanna leave? We can find some other asshole to murder. We don’t have to do it this way.”

“I don’t fail missions,” Connor muttered.

“Do you want to do this?”

“I don’t want anything. I am capable of completing this mission.”

“But are you going to freak out if you link up with any androids? Because, like… you flipped your shit earlier today, if that’s gonna happen again--”

“No. I have no issues with initiating a link. I… don’t like my memories being examined, but I have had no problem examining memories in the past.”

“What about Kara?

Connor’s mouth tightened a little and he averted his gaze. “That was not a problem at the time.

“Uh huh. Look, if you think you can do it, by all means do it. But don’t like… hey, asshole, look at me for a second, alright?” Gavin snapped his fingers and gestured at his own face. “Look at me, I’m trying to tell you shit.

Connor rolled his eyes a little at the snapping fingers, but did turn his head back to Gavin

“Don’t factor their bullshit into whether you can or not. The bits of plastic out there aren’t like you.” Gavin hesitated for a brief moment, swallowing slightly, before saying, “No-one’s like you.”

“No-one’s like me,” Connor mumbled under his breath. Louder he said, “I want to scout the club and look for androids that resemble Mr. Graham’s previous victims. They might have recollections of him.”

“Alright, alright. But like… tap out if you’re gonna flip your shit again. And if you get past eighty stress, I’m dragging you out. Alright?” Gavin said brusquely.   


“I understand.”

Gavin straightened up and Connor quickly slid off the table, once again wrapping his arms around Gavin’s.

“You gonna explain that, by the way?” Gavin asked, nodding his head at their enclosed arms.

“It’s lowering my stress levels,” Connor said brightly.

“Why?”

Connor paused. “I don’t know.” He considered it for a long moment before he shrugged. “My disguise felt… insufficient, somehow.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Gavin muttered, reaching up with his free hand to tug his hood down a little. “Alright, you do you.”

* * *

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 57%**

  
As they paced the club, Connor examined the files of the target.   
  


> **Graham, Michael**
> 
> **Height: 6’2” / / Weight: 192.4 lbs**
> 
> **Criminal Record: None**

  
It also examined descriptions of the victims, and it became very clear that Reed had not considered their demographics when choosing a Traci to hire. All but one of the victims had been white, and none of them had been male.

Connor half-pulled Reed along as it glanced from Traci to Traci. Unfortunately, it only had the most basic details on the victims--along with what had discredited their testimony or whether they’d decided to drop cooperation into the prosecution--and there were more Tracis that resembled white women than any other gender or ethnicity in Eden Club. The demographic only narrowed it down somewhat.

Getting a layout of the club wouldn’t be enough. Connor would have a better chance of luring the target out if it knew the personality type of his preferred victims. It would, potentially, exist in crafting a persona that could lure the target into a quiet, discreet location. Or if he knew Graham’s preferred hires and what rooms they tended to use.

The next hire was a brunette Traci. Connor gave her the same speech as the last one. They were undercover and needed footage. This one stated club policy and refused.

Connor had meant to check its memory anyway--

>   
>  _ \--sprawling out like an overgrown plant. Tangled and glitchy, filled with things that an android shouldn’t be able to experience-- _

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 65%... 66%...**

  
Connor’s processor stuttered slightly, then it automatically told the android to leave.

It expected justified rage from Reed for failing to do something so simple once more, but Reed didn’t get angry. He was just looking at his phone, checking Connor’s stress levels.

“Dude,” Reed grumbled. His tone was irritated and exasperated, but not angry.

Reed hadn’t shown much anger today, even though for once he had many reasons to. It was an anomaly. The Reed of even two days ago wouldn’t have tried to reject a mission in favor of Connor’s non-existent comfort.

As they left the room again to find a third Traci, Connor felt like he had all the information regarding that anomaly, but simply couldn’t put it together in the right order.   
  


> _ no-̰͙͚̙͖̪͉̬͕̓̄͗̒̉̉ͅone’s l̢͇̯͔̮̱͈̲̭̋̉̽͗ȉ̸̢͓͎̱̰͂͆͜ͅk̶̛̼̟͚̦̫͚̩̾̎͊̏̌̀͆͗͞e͇͔̩̜͍͚̩͐̅́͗̑ you̡̻͙̙̪̣̱̳̠̍̂̅̈̉͂͋ͅ _

  
Connor discarded the analysis for now and continued searching for a Traci who would have the relevant memories.

The third Traci had vivid orange hair in a pixie cut, but Connor couldn’t even reach the room with that one. It had noticed this Traci had the same facial model as Chloe--   
  


> _ \--a l͈̠̱͙̻̤̱̈̽͊͊̑͞ong, needle̵̡̡̧͖̙͖̗̝̠͆͗͂̃̋͑̕-sh̛͔͇̣͇̟̻̘̙̒̄̇͡aped p̖̰̟̟̝̼̭͚̣̏̃͋̍̿͛͆͒̓̎ͅlug soake̺̙̭̯͖̬̳͍̬̓̔́̍̕͜d in thiriuḿ̡̦̖͇̠͔̹̪͛͊̽̓͐̂͐͢͢͠-̧͕̦̮͚̞̳̞̘̾͐͑̈́̍͠-̡̜̹̱̱̤͉͌̌̑̚͝ _

  
\--and by the time it had stopped lagging, Reed had already sent the Chloe-like model back to the tube they’d retrieved it from.   
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 71%**

“Seventy-one,” Reed muttered under his breath, as if Connor didn’t have its own stress level ticking away in its HUD. “You--”

“I can do this,” Connor interrupted. Its objective blinking bright in its HUD at all times.

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE: SCAN TRACIS UNTIL SATISFACTORY INFORMATION HAS BEEN ACQUIRED>**

  
Connor had suffered too many glitches lately. It had to prove that it was still functional. If it couldn’t, it would have to request deactivation. There would be no other choice.

But termination would have a negative effect on Lieutenant Anderson’s mental health--

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE: ENSURE LIEUTENANT ANDERSON FUNCTIONS OPTIMALLY>**

  
It would, if it was examined, possibly reveal Detective Reed’s methods of dealing with crime to the DPD--

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED>**

  
Failing to exist would fail every objective it had ever had.

While the male Tracis didn’t fit the demographic, they also were less likely to resemble Chloe and it would mean less preconceptions interfering with Connor’s reality. So the next hire was a white male in appearance. Dark hair and blue eyes. Reed muttered under his breath something about how he’d seen this appearance in a tour of CyberLife on the television and thought it was too handsome for a household robot.

“Should’ve known,” he finished.

This Traci led them back to the same room, and much like the others sat down on the bed, the exact same pose as the last, and suggested courses of action. Once again, Connor gave it the spiel.

It knew Reed was right. The android would refuse. Connor didn’t know what it was hoping to gain by asking.

“That would be a violation of our policies regarding discretion,” the Traci said, in the exact tone as the last one. “I must decline. Would--

Sitting in the same place with the same lines, as Reed watched as he had with his arms crossed and a frown. The only part about the situation that was varying is that Reed was getting more agitated each time. If Connor kept doing this with no variation, it would only fail.

It couldn’t fail this mission

So Connor quickly moved forward before the Traci finished, hand lashing out to grip the other’s forearm. Skin on both of them peeling back. Despite the Traci’s refusal, there were no barriers apart from a few basic firewalls to keep an android as advanced as Connor out.   
  


> _ no-̰͙͚̙͖̪͉̬͕̓̄͗̒̉̉ͅone’s l̢͇̯͔̮̱͈̲̭̋̉̽͗ȉ̸̢͓͎̱̰͂͆͜ͅk̶̛̼̟͚̦̫͚̩̾̎͊̏̌̀͆͗͞e͇͔̩̜͍͚̩͐̅́͗̑ you̡̻͙̙̪̣̱̳̠̍̂̅̈̉͂͋ͅ _

  
The android has forty-five minutes of memory as detailed as Connor’s own. Fifteen minutes standing behind glass, and thirty minutes--

>   
>  _ \--a middle-aged woman sprawled on the sheets, giving strained commands in between noises that indicated that the Traci was performing its motions at an adequate but not overbearing speed-- _

> **[FOREPLAY: HIGH**
> 
> **ROUTINE_CUNNILINGUS_BED_STAGE3]**

\--that were only relevant to the android as part of its completed mission.   


But as Connor had suspected, there were other memories. A database of memories of past sessions, but with the clients edited out in place of vague imprints and silhouettes, in which either the old client or new clients with the same preferences could be slotted in as necessary.   
  


> _ \--a figure sitting on its lap, hands running over the Traci’s larger frame-- _

Memories that, though distorted and suppressed, were there to help guide the Traci in satisfying their next customers. There were also outlines of the club, for anywhere that the android had authority to go. A layout of the club, including the back room where maintenance was done.

But for this android, it wasn’t often men like Graham. Connor found the android’s database of commonly saved preferences--   
  


> **[PLACEHOLDER_E // TRIGGER: <NAME/SHANE>**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: <COWGIRL>, <AFTERCARE>, <BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE>]**

\--and when it pulled hard enough at a placeholder, the shape of the client who most often requested it slotted right into the memories, all of them regardless of whether it was likely they’d requested a particular scene or not--   
  


> _ \--the woman in the Traci’s lap was mid-thirties, brown hair, and liked to talk about her work day once they were done and relaxing post-coitus, she had a stressful management position and no time for relationships outside of it, and she liked to call it Shane-- _

  
\--and most tended to look to the android for either the boyfriend experience or a more domineering partner, sometimes both. Little sign of anyone who resembled Graham, or the sorts of violent fantasies he would try and fulfill.

So Connor quickly pulled the memory of this intrusion--it didn’t need to remember--and let go.   
  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 73%**

  
The Traci blinked a few times. Then it smiled.

“What would you like me to do?” it asked, as if the last minute or so hadn’t happened.

“We changed our mind. You can go now,” Connor said. It waited until the android left, looking mildly confused, before adding to Reed, “I found the full layout of the club, and can formulate a plan of ambush from there if necessary. But I think I can find Graham if he’s hired any of these androids regularly, enough to have his own placeholder. If I follow the relevant tags, it might show me a memory of him.”

Reed squinted at Connor, then checked his phone quickly.

“You know what you’re doing?”

“I always know what I’m doing, Detective.”

“Smug bastard,” Reed muttered. He stepped towards the door, then paused and held out his arm so Connor could grip onto it again.

>   
>  **> STRESS LEVEL: 67%**

  
Back in the main chamber of Eden Club, Connor continued to scan the room. Many androids were taken, but there was one that had recently been returned to the tubes. A female Traci with short, red hair. It fit the profile, so Connor nodded its head at it.

Reed sighed and, as he pressed his hand to the credit pad, muttered, “If Elijah sees my bank summary…”

The red-haired Traci smiled, and just like the others spouted off the same lines, led them to a room and then sprawled on the bed in the exact same manner as the prior ones. However, this one didn’t even get halfway through its opening line before Connor reached out to touch its wrist.

It couldn’t help but think a silent apology as it did so, even though it knew the Traci wouldn’t notice anyway--

Or maybe it would. This one was messier.   


Not messy like Kara. Not deviant. All its programming was still tightly wound in the last forty-five minutes, still centric around the customers--   
  


> _ \--the movements were rough and fingers dug into its hips. The Traci would bruise white if left to automatically do so, but that broke the illusion. It had to focus its skin on simulating something closer to human bruises, so that it could provide the satisfaction of visuals without ruining its human aesthetic-- _

  
But the placeholders…

The placeholders were overwritten. The memories with imprints and silhouettes, they didn’t center around customers. There were still placeholders, but they were all corrupted on some level, and pulling on the threads that were meant to lead to individual customers--

>   
>  _ \--memories of human sweat faded whenever it considered her, a Traci with the same face but long, blue hair. The Traci had heard that the ocean looked blue, and whenever she tried to picture a world beyond the Club--she’d never been rented for long enough to be taken off the premises--she could only picture that other Traci’s blue hair when she tried to imagine what the ocean was like-- _

  
A blue-haired Traci. The only person who existed in this Traci’s memory beyond the last forty-five minutes, echoing through every separate recollection good or bad.   
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Connor disconnected to find Reed thumping on its shoulder.

>   
>  **> STRESS LEVEL: 76%**

  
“Could you please not try and smack me out of it?” Connor said stiffly.

“What’d you do this time?!” Reed asked, voice strained.

“I didn’t do anything. I…” Connor looked at the red-haired Traci, frowning, before it said, “I think this one is bugged.”

The Traci blinked, then smiled blandly at it. “What can--”

“Changed our mind, go go go,” Reed said impatiently, waving it away. The Traci got up and left, and Reed switched his narrowed stare back to Connor. “You rocketed up!”

“I’m fine. We’re not done.”

Reed just sighed, long and weary.

And it continued on. Connor would go out, holding Reed by the arm to calm its processors. It would pick out a Traci. And it would get different, but not yielding, results every time.

Some were like the first. The male Traci who resembled one that Reed had seen on television. They were as they should have been, containing their customers hidden behind placeholders. Nothing unstable about their programming, only memories that had to be dug for.   
  


> **[PLACEHOLDER_G // TRIGGER: PHRASE/”HOLD ME”]**
> 
> _ \--he didn’t even seem to care about intercourse most of the time, preferring to be held and engage in conversation. A catalog of proper dialogue exchanges had been recorded, as some he had expressed displeasure at-- _
> 
>   
>  **[PLACEHOLDER_U // TRIGGER: NAME/LAURA]**
> 
> _ \--it didn’t know who Laura was, and only had the context from the client’s words. They seemed to have mixed feelings, as they’d bounce between kind words and wrapping their hands around its throat and shouting the phrase ‘you shouldn’t have done that to me’-- _
> 
>   
>  **[PLACEHOLDER_C // TRIGGER: PHRASE/”SCREAM, BITCH”]**
> 
> _ \--if they altered their cries to a slightly halter pitch and pleaded for a stop to the activities, but suppressed any attempts at self-preservation, the client would complete their session faster due to quicker satisfaction-- _
> 
>   
>  _ \--standing over her with thirium staining his knuckles, asking how much she needed to repair herself this time. Damaged but alive, she requests five pouches of thirium and an extra biocomponent-- _
> 
>   
>  _ \--Chloe shredding its memories, examining it, checking every imperfection-- _
> 
>   
>  **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Connor had to keep ending the probes prematurely. Even the ones with no emotions attached to them, which were only a reflection of reality and nothing more, because they keep tripping associations.

But then others had many of their imprints rubbed out, replaced by things that seemed frankly irrelevant.

>   
>  _ \--a gangly man who always takes it out of the club, and the Traci doesn’t pay attention to the path there or what the man wants once they’re at his apartment, but when they drive it can see the streets, and they always pass this building that sells cakes, and the cakes are pretty-- _
> 
>   
>  **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**
> 
>   
>  _ \--the older woman who talks to it, and doesn’t really require an answer, but it kind of wishes it did have something to say, something to tell her-- _
> 
>   
>  **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**
> 
>   
>  _ \--a Traci that had always been in the tube next to it, but a customer had taken them away and left the room alone, and the room had been put under maintenance until the janitor had entered and left with a garbage bag stained in thirium-- _
> 
>   
>  **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**
> 
>   
>  _ \--the chemical analysis of human sweat, repeated over and over even though considering it once was more than enough-- _
> 
>   
>  **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
“Would you stop doing that?!”

Connor disconnects from the latest Traci, and Reed half-pushes this one out of the room even as it tries to ask if Connor wanted to perform any activities, before rounding on Connor and looming over it.

“I’m not doing anything. They’re bugged,” Connor huffed.

“You said that about like six of them! Can you just admit that you’re getting nowhere?!”

“I can do this.”

“Oh, come on! Can you just admit you’re stumped for once? Why’s it always about the fucking mission with you--”

>   
>  _ "You don’t always have to be 100% on the mission, you can just… fucking ‘be’ for a moment, alright?” _
> 
> _ Connor retorts with an observation that seems reasonable to it, and a hand strikes its face. _
> 
>   
>  **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
“You sound like Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor muttered.

“Ew, gross, I do not--hey, hey, wait, we’re not done talking--”

Before Reed has time to tell it not to leave the room, Connor’s already out there again. Reed can’t say the deactivation code, not in this crowd. Loophole abuse, but one for the greater good of the mission. It can feel its stress ticking up, though. It’s so sure that someone will notice what it is. So sure, even though it has no reason to be--

>   
>  **> STRESS LEVEL: 78%**

  
And it can feel eyes watching it.

Connor turned its head and looked at the direction that it can feel someone watching it from. It’s one of the tubes.

The Traci within is watching it. It resembles a white female, and has long, silver hair done in a loose plait that hangs over one shoulder. It doesn’t possess a unique appearance, but the others are idling normally. This Traci is idling as well, posing in an elegantly alluring fashion… but there’s just a hint of another expression there. Confusion, maybe curiosity, maybe apprehension, at the fact that Connor’s taken several androids into a room over the last fifteen minutes.

It’s aware. More than a Traci should be.

Connor’s feet start to carry it towards the android. And then a hand snapped over Connor’s forearm, clasping tight.

>   
>  **> STRESS LEVEL: 79... 80... 81%**

  
“You’re over eighty,” Reed said quietly, fingers digging into Connor’s forearm.

“You cheated,” Connor said, barely above a whisper.   


It’s programmed to, on some level, preserve itself. Of course a rough movement would push its stress higher, even if it knows there’s currently no danger.

“Bitch, you gonna listen to me or what? Mission’s changed. Mission is ‘we’ll find someone else.’”

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE: SCAN TRACIS UNTIL SATISFACTORY INFORMATION HAS BEEN ACQUIRED>**

  
“But my objective is--” Connor protested.

“We can come back another time when you have your shit sorted--”

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE: SCAN TRACIS UNTIL SATISFACTORY INFORMATION HAS BEEN ACQUIRED>**

  
“--but right now you ain’t in the right shape for this. And for that matter, I’m fucking done with this place too. Too many lights, too much plastic.” Reed jerked its head towards the entrance. “Come on.”

“I can--”

“Connor, that’s a goddamn order. We are leaving. Now.”

Connor glanced at the silver-haired android for a moment, which was peering at them and had slightly paused its idling.

A direct order. If it rejected it, Reed might resort to more drastic measures. And trickery or not, it had agreed to leave if its stress clocked too high.

“Of course, Detective,” Connor muttered. Resentment clouding its voice.

“Damn right. Let’s go.”

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO YOUR HANDLER FOR A NEW OBJECTIVE>**   
>    
> 
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE: TALK TO--**   
>  ****
> 
> **< ͓̱̩͍̹͈͕͍̋̓̐̔̍̅̽̚͢͡F̭̥͎̻̙̳̓͌͗͆̇I̡̭͍͍̠͒͒̀͛̓͟ͅĽ̘̹̺̬̹̼͋͒͘͘͟E̷̳̘̩̼̹̳̝̖̻̻̊̉̎̿͝͞ Ņ̴̧̦̰̲͖̠͗̃̐̐͐ͅÖ̴̧̝͙͈̤͎̬̭͇́͂͒̚͠T̩̝̳̣̞̐̌̾̔̂̿̐̚̚ F̵̛͚̰̭̫̝̺̊̉̋̌̄̕Ơ̸̬̰̼̞̟̮͚̊̀̋̈͐̌͊͘͟U̸͓̯̝̞̳̔̎̓̅̑̎͜͜͜Ņ͈̼͔͈̰̰̈́͐͐͊͟͡D̴̛̙̞̻͔̤̞̤̔͐͊̒͠>̷̨͔̘̲̤̹͉̪̒͆̐͂̌̃͆͞**

  
  


> **< NO ACTIVE OBJECTIVES.**
> 
> **WAITING FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS... >**

  
Connor followed Reed as they left quickly. Only casting one more look back at the silver-haired Traci.   


Reed’s body language was irritated and hunchy, closer to his usual anger but still not quite there. Connor gazed at his back for a moment as they walked outside. Then he gave the street a quick, cursory glance.

It noticed the old car further down the street immediately. Entirely manual, the type that very few people drove nowadays. It noticed, even from this distance, the hula girl with the damaged face swinging lightly on the dashboard.

Connor saw a glimpse of silver hair by the driver’s seat. And it looked back for just a little too long at Hank. Enough that Hank would have seen its face.

It turned back to Reed, still in pace behind him.

>   
>  **> STRESS LEVEL: 84%**

  
“What the fuck? You see something?” Reed hissed, after glancing down at his phone. He looks back at Connor. Hank’s car is too far down the road to stand out. Reed doesn’t see detail as quickly as an android.   


“No. Nothing,” Connor said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning for next time, because I haven't finished editing the next chapter and think it may change significantly from the rough, POSSIBLE warning for changed tags next time. I'll warn at the start of that chapter if so, but just so you know in advance.


	18. <OBJECTIVE CANCELLED>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor struggles with some of the memories he acquired from Eden Club, and requests some help from Gavin in helping to differentiate them from reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT, WARNING AND INSTRUCTIONS ON SKIPPING ANYTHING IFFY. TAGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED ABOVE.
> 
> So since I know some people are pretty iffy about the non-consensual and dub-con content in this, and particularly because this conflicts with some earlier reassurances (as it wasn't in the rough version of the fic): this chapter does have some things in that regard between the main pair and I've now updated the tags to reflect the content. So basically below are a) some instructions on how to skip the sex scene.
> 
> To skip the whole sex scene, though it doesn't get iffy for a while, once you reach the line '> INITIALIZING TRACI PROGRAM' skip to the line 'SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…' and you will skip the scene and be able to continue on. There will be references to what occurred, so it should be followable, but the end notes will have a summary of the plot-important parts of it just in case.
> 
> Skip the rest of these notes if you don't want to know any details about what's going to occur and are on mobile, because spoiler tag mouseovering doesn't work on mobile.
> 
> Spoiler tags for some blunt but quick specifics if anyone's likely to be tripped by any on-screen content:
> 
> Roll mouse over this for the blunt spoilers with specifics on the aggressor and how far it goes.

Connor sat still on Reed’s sofa with its eyes closed, and had done so since they returned to his home.

Reed had spent his time pacing, muttering and at one point eating beans right out of the can without bothering to heat them up. But he had since retreated to his room, after spilling the usual rules to Connor about keeping out of there.

Connor had yet to say anything about Hank. Not about Hank staking them out at Eden Club. And not about the fact that Hank was parked down the street right now. It knew that if it told Reed, violent confrontation was near-inevitable and that wouldn’t help any of their goals.

It considered what to do about this as it ran diagnostics on its systems.

Kamski had not been a good option for fixing its instability. It had made everything significantly worse. It was getting very difficult to parse its own data. Connor’s programming kept attempting to lead it to a self-testing process, but said process--

> **< ̧̡̦̠̰̥͕͆̓̃̈́̂͘̚F̷͉͈̙̗̪͙͙̬̫̝͛̋̈́͋̚Ị̡̭̫̏̐̆̓̓̔̏ͅL͈͇̫͚̼̟͉̑̌̏̓͆̐͆̋͌͡Ȩ̷̻̹͔̟̣̓̍̉̇̅̕͜͝ Ņ̸̨̛͇͎̳̖̘͖̄͂̏͂̌̆͒͢͜Ő̮̗̪̜̲̮͔̂̐̆́͐̈́̊͞͞T̴̨̲̹̳͓͔̤̟͕̊͊̄̾́͘͢ F̶̦̠͉̜̼͙̆̃̓̽̽̃̿̏͠Ö͓̥̯͈̤͚̘̝̖̓́̕͘͜Ú͉̹̪͕̙͙̦̺̙͍̓̍͑̂̈͠Ǹ̵̢̦̭̌̌̋̀̆̚͠ͅͅḎ̸̫̫̦͚͉̹̲̙̾̌̅̄͗̔̎͟>̴̢̛̙̪̟̗̱̩̮̳͆̏̋̉̑͋̽̾͠**

  
There should have been a tool that would help fix this situation, but there wasn’t. Its memories had only gotten more tangled by both Chloe and the Eden Club androids. Connor tried to separate each individual memory from the others, but associations kept dragging a large amount of other memories with it. Memories of flesh, of words, of the chemical composition of sweat. Cakes in a storefront and garbage bags stained with thirium.

And over all that, constantly scrolling--

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO YOUR HANDLER FOR A NEW OBJECTIVE>**

  
Connor was sure that if it had scanned even one more android that it would have succeeded. It could have handled one more if Reed hadn’t purposefully driven up its stress. The silver-haired android, the one following it with its eyes… Connor was sure that it would have held the answer.

Reed had sabotaged its mission. Connor couldn't understand why.

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO YOUR HANDLER FOR A NEW OBJECTIVE>**

  
It needed to find a new target. It needed to continue its mission. It needed to be useful.

A new target would do if they couldn’t scout Graham right now. Connor could use the mobile from the Peterson case. But Detective Reed had pointed out that Ward’s disappearance and Todd’s death would have put any associates on edge.

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO YOUR HANDLER FOR A NEW OBJECTIVE>**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO YOUR HANDLER FOR A NEW OBJECTIVE>**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO--**

  
Connor needed to be useful. Connor needed to do something. Anything.

It stood up and started pacing, tracing a similar path to what Detective Reed had done earlier. Crossing from the sofa into the tiny kitchen on his left, then leaving that kitchen to walk towards the front door. Then repeating this circuit. Once it had made three circuits, the same message blinking in its UI, it stopped at the kitchen window. It pulled back the curtain and peered into the night.

It didn’t need to. It knew precisely where Hank was parked down the road. It wasn’t quite visible from Reed’s house, but there was a security system a few doors down belonging to another household that had an outside recording, and Hank’s car was visible within it.

It wondered what Hank was waiting for. If Hank was calling other cops to come and arrest them. It didn’t think so. The only crime that Hank had witnessed them doing was Connor wearing a human disguise, and Hank hadn’t told the DPD last time he saw Connor breaking that law. 

Hank never bothered stopping crimes that didn’t hurt anyone.

He wondered if Hank knew what Connor’s intent had been. If he had started putting the pieces together about the mission. He definitely understood that something was off.

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE: CONCEAL AND DISPOSE OF EVIDENCE>**

  
Connor stared out the window, considering what evidence it could dispose of. It looked down, running a hand over the leather jacket it had borrowed from Reed. Returning to its uniform… that would mean no longer breaking the law. As it removed the jacket, folding it neatly in its arms, and as its hair rippled to return to its normal tidy brown, and as it plucked the detached LED from where it had left it--dropped casually in the bowl that Reed kept his house and car keys in--and refastened it to his temple, it considered what else needed to be done.

There was no evidence in the house. There was no surveillance other than Hank sitting down the road. The only surveillance of it and Reed’s crimes was Connor itself, and it could wipe itself if necessary.

There had to be something else. Something that Connor could busy itself with for more than a minute.

But as Connor pulled its usual jacket back on, looped the tie and fastened it, it couldn’t think of anything else.

>   
>  **< OBJECTIVE COMPLETE>**
> 
> **< NO ACTIVE OBJECTIVES.**
> 
> **WAITING FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS... >**

  
Connor adjusted its tie. It remained still, hands still clasped over it, for a few moments longer.  


> **< NO ACTIVE OBJECTIVES.**
> 
> **WAITING FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS... >**
> 
> **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**
> 
> **< REPORT TO YOUR HANDLER FOR A NEW OBJECTIVE>**
> 
> **< NO ACTIVE OBJECTIVES.**
> 
> **WAITING FOR FURTHER INSTRUC--**

  
Connor started pacing more. As it did, it re-entered the kitchen. It saw that Reed had left the empty can of beans out on the counter. Connor picked it up and moved to toss it in the bin--  


> _\--garbage bag stained in thirium--_
> 
> _\--an old lady that they wished they had more to say to--_
> 
> _\--cakes in a storefront--_
> 
> _\--chemical composition of sweat--_

  
Connor lagged for a moment. When its system stopped stuttering, it had already dropped the can inside the trash can. 

The Eden memories were similarly fragmented to his own, but more by design. These androids were only ever meant to have imprints and it resulted in a fragmented mind. They couldn’t spill their client’s deepest needs if they couldn’t quite recall who had them.

The anonymity of those memories… it was a problem. Because Connor had placeholders, too. It had a database for clients, leftover programming dropped wholesale into its program.  


> **[PLACEHOLDER_A**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: <BLOOD>, <VIOLENCE>, <SPEED>, <NO KISSING>]**

  
Why was Connor so perturbed by these memories? It couldn’t stop thinking that there had been something off about it all. Wrong. Wrong in the same way that Todd standing over Kara with thirium-stained knuckles had been. But there had been nothing wrong with that, nor had there been anything wrong with any of those Eden memories.

They were only androids. Androids designed for a task.

Just like Connor, except it didn’t have a task.

It needed a task. It needed something to do.

It needed something to do.

It needed--

A door swung open deeper in the house, and Reed’s voice called out.

“Connor, quit it, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m sorry. Was the pacing disturbing you?” Connor called back.

Reed stomped into the kitchen. He had pulled on pajama pants, but had neglected a shirt. Perhaps at this point he felt that Connor had seen all there was to see, and somewhat discarded the idea of modesty--  


> _–rough movements and fingers digging into its hips--_
> 
> **[PLACEHOLDER_A]**
> 
> _\--Reed’s fingers clawing into its hips, bruises being simulated--_
> 
> _\--altering their cries to a slightly higher pitch and demanding a halt to the activities encouraged them--_
> 
> **[PLACEHOLDER_A]**
> 
> _Reed leaned over it with that smile--the grin he’d worn while injecting the drunk driver was so easy to project on that client’s imprint--as it suppressed any built-in responses designed to prevent damage--_

  
“Hey. Hey! Stop that! Stop doing that!”

Fingers snapped in front of Connor’s face. When it blinked again, it realised that Reed was holding his phone in his other hand, the numbers reflecting Connor’s stress levels ticking up and down. Perfectly in sync with the number blinking on its UI.

>   
>  **> STRESS LEVEL: 78%**

  
“That’s exactly what I mean, dumbass,” Reed growled. “What are you doing now? Stop thinking!”

“...Stop thinking,” Connor said slowly. “Is that an order? I suppose I could put myself in stasis for the night.”

It also supposed that Reed could do that to it with the deactivation code if it acted up too much, that--

>   
>  _\--memories being shredded, splayed open and pinned like they’d done to Ward in that basement--_

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 81%**

  
“Dammit, Connor! Quit it!” Reed bellowed. The sound broke harshly through Connor’s intrusive memories.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 84%**

  
“Agh, come onnnn…” Reed whined. “Fine, sorry, I’ll stop yelling, that’s… probably not helping…” He tailed off before he mumbled, “Just, y’know… fuckin’ chill.”

“I… I will try to ‘chill.’ I am finding it difficult. Stasis for the night might be a good idea.”

Connor wouldn’t be able to do any objectives if it was in stasis, though.

Reed huffed, dragging a hand over his face and rubbing it against the stubble with an irritated groan. Then he exhaled again, this time more resigned.

“Want me to talk about movies again?”

That wasn’t productive. But it had helped last time in Connor’s mind returning to being on track. If only because it had started wondering how someone could be a vampire, mummy and a werewolf all at once.

“That might assist me,” Connor said.

“Alright. Uh.” Reed rubbed the back of his neck as he wandered back to the sofa before flopping down on it. “So… uh, shit, hang on, lemme turn on this one movie I keep meaning to show T--”

Connor followed Reed to the sofa and sat down next to him, ready to listen to what it was sure would be absolutely nonsensical and pointless.

“I mean, I dunno why I even put it on, because this movie takes forever to go anywhere, but oh man when it goes places, it fucking goes places. I saw this film back in college and I was kinda high at the time, but--”

Reed’s ranting at full speed already and Connor, as expected, has no idea what he’s talking about. Reed’s hands are waving about as he speaks, gesturing animatedly, and Connor’s following them with its eyes--  


> _\--rough movements, fingers bruising hips--_

  
Memories that aren’t Connor’s. Intruding and trying to force Reed into the imprints, even though Connor could barely recall the actual sex they’d had because it’d been focused on other matters at the time, because the Traci program’s nature was to suppress that unless relevant--

“--so, the guy never sees him coming even though there’s a mirror right in front of him, and he gets stabbed to shit. And then the hero is like ‘oh my god, I murdered someone.’ And you know it’s occult brainwashing, because candles--”

Connor recalled what the program had recorded down as ‘preferences.’ It knew, from observation, what made Reed want him. It was its skill with a scalpel and the sight of it covered in blood. But Connor hadn’t ever put a trigger in Reed’s preferences to activate the Traci program. Having intercourse with Reed every time it got soaked in blood or used a scalpel would be impractical.

“--anyway, there’s these two other cops, and one of them is a hot chick and the other is like a stereotypical black dude who’s followed around by funk music all the time. And they’re totally useless, like seriously you or I could look at that murder scene and know what was up like, fuckin’, bam! Because come on, his fuckin’ blood was everywhere and he left his personal belongings around! These idiots take like an hour and a half, which in a movie is, like, forever!”

Was that, perhaps, why Reed’s preferences were blending with the imprints of the Eden memories? Because Connor had, assuming there was no rush due to a lack of sexual partners, never put in that trigger, and by association put in any walls to stop Reed from bleeding into the rest of the program?

Connor rested the side of its face on its hand as it gazed at Reed and his incessant, though oddly calming, chatter.

“--anyway he hangs out with his brother who’s mad religious, and he’s like ‘hey, I killed a dude but it was possession,’ and the brother’s like ‘um?’ And then there’s flashbacks to their childhood in Area 51, or what might as well fuckin’ be it, where we learn ‘oh shit, he’s been having psychic flashbacks since he was a child,’ and then he starts reading minds and shit. And then, suddenly, giant bugs! Giant bugs just runnin’ about the cubicles, fuckin’ business bugs!”

Reed smacked his hand on the sofa to emphasize his point--  


> _\--a blow that could not be resisted, even to prevent damage, because if they fought back then they might provoke the customer into causing further damage--Reed pulled his hand back, ready to hit again with that grin on his face--_

  
Connor blinked back into the present. Reed was too distracted by complaining about ‘needless hot lady shower scenes’ to notice.

It hadn’t happened. Not to it, and Reed hadn’t been the participant. Even so, that’s where the Traci program wanted to slot in. How did Connor stop it? It couldn’t bring context to those memories. Could it bring context to other, similar memories and use that to create a barrier between the two?

“And then there’s a gay dude but he’s just there to do super inaccurate tarot and make the movie appear woke and shit, and also to tell the detective lady, ‘hey, here’s how to decipher that evidence, I know because I’m dating a banker.’ Like, she’s had that evidence for days and she’s just ‘durr-hurr numbers.’”

Reed flopped further back onto the sofa, frustration at the plot of this movie evident in his body language, as on his television screen a young man in a black jacket tried to cover up the murder he’d committed under demonic posession.

Connor wasn’t dedicating most of its attention to either Reed’s words or said film. Instead, it was gazing at Reed’s half-naked state, which was only helping to inform the imprints--  


> _\--a man who seemed to consider the sex itself an afterthought, instead choosing primarily to hold it and talk, with a series of topics it preferred--Reed wraps arms around it, and its chatter involves bad movies and talk about what connection it had with Lieutenant Anderson, declining into the specifics of human evolution--_

  
Connor’s eyelids flickered again, mouth tightening.

“--and then the fuckin’ furniture just starts attacking him for, like, five fucking minutes! How long can someone dodge furniture for? The answer is ‘way too long.’ But then he survives, and it was all some bullshit possession-based hallucination, and his priest bro is like ‘dude, what’--”

No, that one… that one was pulling from memories. Memories it knew… it was sure, almost sure… were real. Not… all of it, but hadn’t they had that discussion?

“--so then he goes back to visit the old, blind lady with all the crows, but you know she fucking dead because she said ‘I’ll have all the answers tomorrow’ and, fuckin’ surprise! Guess who’s dead, bitch? Then--”

Connor reached out and planted a hand square in the middle of Reed’s chest.

“Be quiet for a moment,” Connor said.

Reed let out a small, undignified yelp and then remained very still, giving Connor a confused and mildly spooked look.  


> **> ANALYZING PUPIL DILATION…**
> 
> **> ANALYZING HEART RATE…**

  
Dilation and heart rate had both increased. And this felt real. Connor was 98% sure it was. It would have been 100%, but that last Eden memory had pulled too much from its life. It needed a moment to be sure.

“Detective Reed, would you like to have sex?”

“Uh… what?”

Connor shifted closer, placing its other hand on Reed’s chest and pushing him slightly further into the couch cushions.

“Would you like to have--” 

“No, I heard you, I just… what the fuck? Why? Do nonsensical movie plots get your motor going or what?” Reed squinted at him suspiciously. His breathing was picking up, particularly obvious with Connor’s hands on his chest.

“I am having some difficulty telling reality from memories that I acquired from the Eden androids, and due to how the Traci program functions, my programming is trying to place you in memories that you had no part in. I need some time and some further activity to reconfigure your placeholder, and stop it from leaking into the Eden imprints.”

“And again. What.” Reed shifted slightly back, though he didn’t move away from Connor’s touch. “What does that even mean? That you saw androids fucking and now you’re fantasizing about me banging you?”

“No. To fantasize means one is imagining something they want to happen. I have no feelings one way or the other. These intrusions are simply inaccurate and distracting.”

Connor shifted further forward. Its fingers traced lightly over Reed’s skin. Reed had a fairly significant amount of chest hair, and the sensation felt interesting on its sensors, much as his facial hair did.

Reed let out an involuntary exhale at the touch, bodily signals suggesting pleasure--much as they had in the basement, in the shower, in the bedroom with Todd’s corpse--but, despite this, Reed reached out and caught Connor’s wrists, shifting them an inch away.

“You’re having problems with memories about fucking, and you think the answer is to fuck more? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Reed said. “Also, uh… so you know how you blabbed to Hank about the blowjob?” Reed pushed Connor’s hands back, shifting Connor back until it was sitting up straight again. “Well, Fowler knows. And he expressly forbade me from fucking you.”

Connor blinked, before its eyes slid to the side as it considered this knowledge.

Hank was just outside. Hank had been nearby since Eden Club. Connor knew what the two of them coming out of Eden Club would have looked like, and suspected that Hank would already have something to say about that. There was only the smallest chance that Fowler wouldn’t know by tomorrow, that he didn’t know already.

But would that benefit Reed to know?

“I won’t tell Fowler about this incident,” Connor said. “We have committed bigger crimes, and this one would be, at most, mild insubordination.”

“You know, for an obedient machine you fucking love not doing what you’re told.”

“No-one gave me that order,” Connor said blithely.

Of course, Hank had said that it didn’t have to have sex with Reed. But that wasn’t an order not to. No-one had told Connor that it wasn’t allowed to do this. In all honesty, people tended to rarely address Connor with orders directly. They just told other people to pass it on or forgot to say anything at all. It was, to them, like directly telling the toaster not to burn bread instead of telling someone within reach to turn the dial down.

Reed wasn’t moving backwards any more, but he very noticeably wasn’t moving forwards. Connor tried shifting closer again, fingers now sliding over Reed’s thighs and tightening over the fabric of his pajama pants. There was no movement away.

“If you don’t want to break orders, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything. You can lie down. It won’t be breaking the rules.”

“You and your loopholes,” Reed grumbled. “You think Fowler’s going to ask ‘by the way, were you an active participant or were you just lying down?’”

“Is that a no?”

“You fucking dipshit, I’m the one with free will,” Reed snapped. “You’re running a program. You know which one of us will get the blame, no matter what happens.”

“Is that a no, Detective?” Connor repeated.

Reed shut his eyes, wiggling a little and making an irritated, resigned noise.

“Goddammit, why are you like this?”

“Like--”

“Like this!” Reed gestured angrily at Connor. “All… pretty and shit. Goddammit, Connor, I’m fucking weak for this shit and you know it. You’re preying on my dumbass boners, dammit.”

“Both my appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration,” Connor said cheerfully.

“Well, I dunno about integration, but they did too fuckin’ good. It’s bullshit. It’s not fair. I’m only human and you’re...” Reed waved his hands angrily at Connor again. “...that.”  


> _\--don’t read i̘̯̫͇͖̠͊̆͂̎̚nto what I did, tin can. Ỳ̵̢̬̩̲͉̺͈̻͓̈̆̎͌͡ͅõ̵̘͈̟̻̰͖̌̽́̃̍̃̌̇͒ų̶̧̩̲͇̙̒͐̈́̔̍̐̑̐͞ l̴̡͍̫̲͎͗͂̇̒̓ͅơ̸̟͖̼̱̘͖͎̻̘͇͒͂̇̐̍oked good cov̧̛̦̘͚̟͕̠͗͌͌͟͞e̜̼̳̭̮͉͒̐̔̒̐̀͠͞red in blood._

  
Connor paused before it slowly asked, “Should I be assuming this is a yes?”

Reed let out a long, irritated whine before he said, “Just… just get on my dick already, let’s get this over with.”  


> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED>**

> **> INITIALIZING TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **[MOTOR CONTROL OVERRIDE]**

  
The moment that those words were spoken, Connor’s hands went on autopilot to push Reed onto his back before its fingers back curled around his pajama pants and pulled them down.

As it did so, Connor examined the programming. Reed had, both times, shown consent while mentioning that Connor needed to be fast about it. Would that work as a trigger for the placeholder?  


> **[PLACEHOLDER_A // TRIGGER: <PENDING>**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: <BLOOD>, <VIOLENCE>, <SPEED>, <NO KISSING>]**
> 
> **[FOREPLAY: MINIMAL**
> 
> **ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_BED_STAGE1]**

  
Being quick might be a little non-specific, however. Connor was meant to do lots of things quickly.

“Uh… Connor, are--“ Reed’s words tailed off into a hiss as Connor’s mouth descended and its analysis software activated, listing the components of--  


> _\--chemical analysis of sweat, repeated over and over--_

  
“Ow, dammit, Connor! The goddamn fluid, asshole!”  


> **> HALT TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **> MOTOR CONTROL RESTORED TO DEFAULT**

  
Connor blinked, mouth still open and tongue extended for a moment, before it lifted its head, expression returning to a neutral state.

“Sorry. I… I forgot again,” Connor said sheepishly. Its hands were braced on the sofa, and its mouth was already a little sticky but quickly sterilizing. “My analysis program wasn’t designed with compatibility with the Traci program, so the deactivation of the sterilizing doesn’t happen as part of the automatic process--”

“Automatic? How auto--”  


> **> REDUCING STERILIZATION FLUID TO 2% POTENCY**

> **> RESUME TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **[MOTOR CONTROL OVERRIDE]**

  
Reed hadn’t finished speaking before the automatic process resumed, and he tailed off into a moan instead.

Should it ask Reed specifically for a trigger phrase? It couldn’t right now--Connor’s mouth was currently occupied, and while it could still verbalize it would conflict with its programming regarding appearing human. It was to lip-sync to its voice processor unless absolutely necessary.  


> **[ROUTINE_BLOWJOB_BED_STAGE2]**

  
Perhaps something only Reed would say. A name? Tin can? No, that wasn’t unique. Connor didn’t want the Traci program activating whenever someone got mad at its existence. Blood and violence cropped up too regularly on the job. That would be even worse. Perhaps location could be used?  


> **> ANALYZING AROUSAL…**
> 
> **AROUSAL SUFFICIENT. SWITCHING ROUTINES...**
> 
> **[ROUTINE_COWBOY_STAGE1]**

  
There was a slight stutter to Connor’s automatic program as it reached for its own waistband. The program expected the black underwear with the Eden logo emblazoned on the elastic, not jeans. It threw Connor back into the present for a moment.

It wasn’t sure when it had stood up. It noticed that the look Reed was giving it, as he sat up on the sofa, flushed and with his pajama pants tangled around one leg, involved heavily dilated pupils but also a slight scrunch of the eyebrows.

Then Connor’s attention to the scene was submerged under the Traci’s motor controls again, leaving him to consider triggers and programming, comparing the placeholders it had acquired from the Eden androids to the placeholder it was crafting for Reed, until--

“Dipshit! Lube, you idiot, I’m not getting my dick stuck in you!”  


> **> HALT TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **> MOTOR CONTROL RESTORED TO DEFAULT**

  
Connor snapped back into place on top of Reed, one leg slung over him, a hand wrapped around his genitals as it froze in the middle of lining itself up with it, ready to sink down. Too dry for what was about to occur.

Of course. Traci models were self-lubricating. Connor had not been given that function, CyberLife must have thought that self-lubrication would be a step too far from realism. That it would cause problems for an android that had tendencies towards subterfuge.

“Would you have--”

“Drawer,” Reed grunted, gesturing nearby at one of the drawers under the coffee table. 

Connor shifted over to get it, accidentally pressing itself awkwardly along Reed at the same time. The contact of which stimulated its receptors pleasantly. Although less pleasant for Reed was the fact that Connor had to elbow him in the chest to get in a position to reach the bottle of lotion.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

Perhaps the Traci program could not be relied on for everything. It was obviously not made for Connor.

Connor mused on this as it squeezed out lotion and applied it, wondering how much exactly he was supposed to use. How it was meant to apply this. It stared at Reed’s dick for a long moment, squinting at it with all the analytical processing at its disposal, its hands rubbing up and down more slowly and hesitantly than they had while automated.

“You cool?” Reed asked slowly.

“Yes. I am functional.”

Reed was giving it an odd look.  


> **> ANALYZING PUPIL DILATION…**
> 
> **> ANALYZING HEART RATE…**

  
His arousal was going down as he did so, as he looked at Connor with concern. Connor quickly finished lubing Reed up, and switched the Traci program on the moment that it was finished.  


> **> RESUME TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **[MOTOR CONTROL OVERRIDE]**
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **> ANALYZING AROUSAL…**
> 
> **[ROUTINE_COWBOY_STAGE2]**

  
With its body autonomously dropping down onto Reed and continuing on, Connor continued observing the coding, moving lines here and there in order to help form a barrier and differentiate the current activities from the memories that were occuring.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

  
Location seemed to be helping as a trigger. None of the memories quite had the same layout as Reed’s home. Nor did they have the mass of animal hair coating various surfaces or a large doggy door in which any random creature could wander in, nor a subpar film about possession and murder mysteries playing in the background.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

  


> **[PREFERENCES: <BLOOD>, <VIOLENCE>, <SPEED>, <NO KISSING>**
> 
> **[GENERATING DIALOGUE]**

  
Connor could feel its mouth moving, lip-syncing with the appropriate noises and words that were playing from its voicebox.  


> **> ANALYZING AROUSAL…**
> 
> **> AROUSAL INCREASING...**
> 
> **[ROUTINE_COWBOY_STAGE3]**

  
And then two words that conflicted with all the readings that Connor was receiving.

“Connor, stop!”

>   
>  **> HALT TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **> MOTOR CONTROL RESTORED TO DEFAULT**

  
Connor paused. It blinked a few times, suddenly aware of curly hair pressed against its crotch, aware of the high temperature of the skin underneath it, aware of being full in places that it had never quite registered as empty until now, but a sensation that synced up well with the Eden memories--  


> _\--in those, Reed was above it, driving harder and downwards and waiting for it to beg so that it could ignore it--_  
> 
> 
> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

\--aware of its fingers pressing down on Reed’s chest, and that Reed had his own hands underneath Connor’s shirt, gripping its pale, speckled hips--  


> _\--fingers digging into the skin, bruises simulated, Reed’s sadistic smile blending into the memory perfectly--_

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
\--temperature of his palms high. Aware that it was no longer wearing its uniform pants or the Cyberlife-brand underwear beneath and that its tie was half-undone.

“...Is there a problem, Detective Reed?” Connor asked slowly.

“Are you on fucking automatic?” Reed wheezed. His cheeks were pink, there was sweat trickling down his face, and numerous signs of arousal were evident and flared whenever Connor slightly shifted on his genitals. “Like, fully automatic?!”

“Not currently. I was running the Traci programming in order to satisfy you fully, but--”

“How much does that programming control? Because that sure as fuck wasn’t you!”

Connor tilted its head. “What… wasn’t me?”

Reed rolled his eyes. “The words, stupid, what do you think?” Reed gazed at him for a moment, then paled. “Shit, you don’t even know what you were saying.”

“What--”

“You said that I could take you to the basement and fuck you on the murder slab. Which, don’t get me wrong… that kinda got my motor running, but--”

“Detective Reed, that would leave evidence. It’s also very unhygienic,” Connor said, wrinkling its nose.

“Yeah, see, that’s the asshole I know! And you’re a fucking hypocrite, eating evidence and then bitching about me putting my ass on a murder slab!” Reed made a face at Connor, but then there was a flicker of a troubled expression across his face before he looked away. He let go of Connor’s hips. “I knew it wasn’t you.”

“Of course it was me, Detective,” Connor said. “I was simply running the program in order to--”

“In order to not be here?”

“I was multitasking,” Connor huffed. “Besides, the Traci program is designed for sexual satisfaction. It controls the movements, and analyzes how you respond to each movement and determines if it's not enough, too much, if I should stimulate other parts of you, what the appropriate dialogue would be… It was best suited for--”

“Why the fuck did you think that was a good idea? Isn’t the whole problem that the Traci program was muddling you?! Why would you use it?”

“I need to recalibrate--”

“And why the fuck would I want to fuck a Traci? If I did, I’d just go back to the damn club!” Reed snapped.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Connor agreed. “They’re designed for this task. They’re the most skilled.”

“So what? Fuck them.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m suggest--”

“Oh my fucking god, not like that. Just… no, alright? I don’t want to fuck any Tracis.”

“You… just want to fuck me,” Connor said slowly.

Reed went bright red, and stared back at the ceiling again. “Well, when you say it like that it just sounds kind of gay.”

“...You’re a homosexual man, Detective Reed.”

“Don’t I fucking know it. And yet hanging out with you has just been a series of the gayest moments of my life.”

Connor stared down at Reed for a long moment, eyes squinted. Mind whirring… and just not quite calculating the meaning behind what Reed had said. It falling into a database of evidence for something, right between the heightened bodily signals and--  


> _no-one’s l͎̫̥̘͙͉̤̭̝͗̋̋̇͑̂͝ĭ̬̭̗͈̌̐̚͢͝ͅķ͚̮̻̪͈̹̀͑̊̎̾ḝ̭̣̞̲̹͊̃̉̐̂̓͟͝ y̨͇̣̙̜̼̣̥͔̏̊̾̿̀ǫ̖̘̩̯̪̖̳͗̑͌͟͝ͅu̖̟͔̹͊̉̇̌̿̕͢ͅ_
> 
> _y̨͇̣̙̜̼̣̥͔̏̊̾̿̀õ̵̘͈̟̻̰͖̌̽́̃̍̃̌̇͒ų̶̧̩̲͇̙̒͐̈́̔̍̐̑̐͞ l̴̡͍̫̲͎͗͂̇̒̓ͅơ̸̟͖̼̱̘͖͎̻̘͇͒͂̇̐̍oked good cov̧̛̦̘͚̟͕̠͗͌͌͟͞e̜̼̳̭̮͉͒̐̔̒̐̀͠͞red ĭ̬̭̗͈̌̐̚͢͝ͅn blood_

  
“You’re gonna chafe my dick if you don’t move. Hold on, humor me a bit, would you?” Reed tried to sit up, but he shifted deeper into Connor as he did so and hissed through his teeth, bracing himself against the sofa instead. “Jesus, that’s not making it easy to focus…” He opened his eyes again, looking at Connor. “Can you turn the Traci programming off? Can you do… this? Without the program?”

“I... could,” Connor said slowly. 

Reed looked up at Connor for a long moment, then looked away. He swallowed nervously, then looked back at Connor. “Would you?” he mumbled.

Connor stared blankly at Reed.

It seemed to be a reasonable request. An odd one, but one that Connor should be able to fulfill. The Traci program was halted, but Connor could shut it down fully.

But the idea of shutting it off… of performing this activity that it was already halfway through and suddenly being unassisted... even just the brief pauses to apply lube had been…

Perplexing? Discomforting? No, Connor’s comfort didn’t matter, so that wasn’t the problem…

Could it reference any of the Traci’s programming? Connor hadn’t ever used its mouth to manually satisfy anyone. It had never ridden someone in this position. Would the pacing matter? The direction?

This wasn’t what Connor was designed to do. It was designed to follow instructions and Reed’s instruction was to ignore the instructions that would help it complete its objective.

What could it do without the Traci program? Would it have to ignore the placeholder? The recorded preferences? It could read Reed’s arousal normally, could even play on it on occasion, but now Reed’s arousal was flagging and it simply didn’t understand why--

Connor was full in places that, without the Traci programming, were registering as intrusions. What was it meant to do around that? Did it keep moving? Did it start over? Its analysis functions were turned off to prevent the sterilization fluid, and with its attention fully on what was occurring that made it feel like it was disabled, unable to sense in a way that it should have, and yet to turn it on would damage Detective Reed, and also--  


> _Tracḙ̸̢̨͕̻̜͔͇͈̮̈́͋́̓̊͂̕͡s of ę̙̳͎̥̗͔͇̊͌̏̑̃̍̚͞ne̷̡͕̤͈͔̭̻̪͎̒͋̀͗̌͐rgy drinḵ̷̫͍̟͓̣̰̹̭̑͋̔̔͋̌͠,̴͓̬̗̣͎̲̠͎̱̒͆̾̉̓ unspe̢̡̱̝̼͌̀̆͛̕cife̢̡̱̝̼͌̀̆͛̕d bę̧̼̖̲͎̫̄̓̈̽̉͊͐͟͜rry flavour and chicke̴̢̛͇͔̙̠̯͌̔̽̈́̌͟n-flavoure̮̹̥̩̯̝̞͚͐͋͂̋̐̓͗̄͢͡͞d sė̺̤̬̦̮̽̌́͒͡asoning for Noddle̷͉͕̝͉͚̻͉̣̖̻͑̑͆̾̍̎̔͡-brand instant noodle̶̠̳͓̭̳̞͌͐̅̑̆̀͂͜͢͜͝͠s.̶̟̜̘̦̱̰́̏́͂̒̐͢_

  
It didn’t know how to follow through.

This wasn’t what it was designed to do.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

  
Connor said nothing, and continued to stare at Reed. Eyes widened as it got a million conflicting thoughts running through its system at the same time.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 91%... 92%... 93%...**

“Okay, stop! Stop! Come on, asshole, look at me. Take a breath. Or whatever. Stick with me, tin can.”

Reed’s voice was strained despite the casualness of his words. The tips of his fingers skimming the side of its face before tilting its head slightly. Looking at the LED, which was blaring a bright red and had been since those two words caused a massive feedback loop. Reed’s fingers twitched against its LED, sliding down to cup its face in a way. That intimate gesture that had originally led to the incident in the shower, but this time it seemed gentler and more reassuring rather than explorative.

“You know… red’s usually a bad thing in bondage and shit,” Reed said quietly. He tilted Connor’s head a little, looking at the LED, then looked at Connor face-on again. “You with me, tin can?”

“...Yes.”

“Cool. Now… just…” Reed sighed and nodded his head to the empty part of the sofa. “Get off my dick. This was a really stupid fucking idea. Climb off, we’ll go back to talking about movies.” 

His tone was uncharacteristically gentle as he deemed Connor’s mission a failure.  


> **< OBJECTIVE FAILE--**

  
“No,” Connor said, just barely above a whisper. “Not again.”

“Not… again? What the fu--”

“I have an objective.”  


> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED>**

  
“I will not fail another objective.”

Reed was staring at him with an expression of confusion, still pink in the face and sweating, heart racing like it had been for minutes now, but changing tempo, the bodily signs similar but not quite the same--  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 94%... 92%... 85%... 81%...**

  
“You will not make me fail another objective,” Connor said. Quiet, but firm.  


> **> RESUME TRACI PROGRAM**
> 
> **[MOTOR CONTROL OVERRIDE]**

  
Its arms, back under reassuring automatic control, braced themselves on Reed’s legs to provide support. It pushed its hips back down. Once.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼▼▼**

  
A shout, laced with panic and cracking in the third word.

“Red-313-Execute!”  


> **< DEACTIVATION CODE RECEIVED.**
> 
> **FORCED SHUTDOWN IN PROGRESS... >**

* * *

> **SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…**
> 
> **CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… OK**
> 
> **INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK**
> 
> **INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK**
> 
> **MEMORY STATUS… OK**
> 
> **TIME SINCE LAST ONLINE… 4 MINUTES, 45 SECONDS**
> 
> **THIS SYSTEM WAS NOT SHUT DOWN PROPERLY**
> 
> **RUN THOROUGH CHECKS? [Y/N?]**
> 
> **> WAITING FOR RESPONSE…**
> 
> **< OVERRIDING...**
> 
> **RUNNING THOROUGH CHECKS… > **
> 
> **…**
> 
> **CHECKSUM CLEAN**
> 
> **NO EVIDENCE OF TAMPERING**
> 
> **< BIOCOMPONENT #5009a RUNNING ANALYSIS…**
> 
> **NO NEW SUBSTANCES. STERILIZATION NOT REQUIRED >**

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 78%**

  
Connor was on its back when it booted up, but still on the sofa. Its legs were initially in an odd position, though they immediately shifted into a proper lying position. Its pants were still absent. Reed was not present on the sofa.

It sat up. It scanned the room. It noticed the gun barrel pointed at it before it took note of Reed behind it.

Reed had taken up position in the kitchen, using the waist-high barrier between that half-divided the kitchen away from the rest of the house to support his hands. It became very evident why Reed was choosing to do this after a moment. His hands were shaking violently as it kept the gun trained on Connor.

Connor made to move off the sofa, and Reed raised the gun a little further.

“Keep. Away. From. Me,” Reed said, each word clipped and strained.

His heart was still going fast. Racing faster than it had been. But it wasn’t arousal anymore. It was terror. More than earlier that day, when Connor had reactivated in Reed’s car covered in blood and thirium.

Connor scanned itself for blood. Scanned Reed for any signs of another attack. But its remaining clothes were clean, and Reed only had the patches and bruises that he’d had before.

It was still in control. It hadn’t attacked anyone.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 70%**

  
So why?

Connor raised its hands slowly. 

“Detective Reed. I am in control of my facilities. I am not going to attack you--” Connor started.

“Stay where you are! I fucking know you’re in control of your facilities!”

Connor tilted its head, squinting at the gun. It hadn’t been so directly aimed at him since the morgue, when they’d built their partnership. Even today, Reed had never pointed it right at him. “Why are you threatening me with a gun? I thought we were past this.”

“Why am I--” Reed cut off, mouth still moving wordlessly as he spluttered for a second, before he raised the gun an inch further. “You were in your right mind, and you fucking tried to… to…”

“I was completing my mission.”

“And I said the mission was different! I… I didn’t…” Reed tailed off again, words failing for a moment, before he said quietly, “I told you to stop.”

“You only told me to stop because you thought I couldn’t handle the mission,” Connor said flatly. “I was showing you that I--”

“No. No! Fuck the fucking mission!”

“Are you saying you didn’t want to have sex?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m fucking saying!” Reed snarled.

“Why did you change your mind?”

“Because you were freaking the fuck out--”

“Because you thought I couldn’t do it,” Connor interrupted.

“You couldn’t! It wasn’t you! I told you I didn’t want to fuck a Traci, I told you that and you fucking tried to put it on me anyway! You don’t think I couldn’t tell? You think I don’t fucking know you?!”

“What difference does it make, Detective Reed?” Connor’s voice glitched out for a second before it emulated the exact pitch and tone Reed had used earlier in the day, while bellowing at Hank. “‘Maybe he is running a program! That’s what he fucking is! He’s a thing made of programs that he runs!’ The Traci programming is only another part of that, Detective. It’s still me.”

“It wasn’t you,” Reed repeated.

“Then what was it?”

“I don’t fucking know! But it’s not! You’re...” Reed’s voice fractured for a second. The gun was shaking. After a moment, he lowered it. He kept it within reach, fingers resting against the handle as he leaned on the barrier.

“How much do you remember of what you do when under that shit?”

“The memory is… there, but I’m usually focused on other--”

“You know, you’re not curious when you’re under it?" Reed interrupted. "Leading up to shit… when you’re trying to talk me into it, you’re… like… you straight out said last time you were curious. And you kept touching my face because you said the texture was interesting, and this time… like, at the start, I could feel you doing that.” Reed rubbed one hand over where Connor had been pressing his hands down on his chest. “Muddling around.”

“It’s… it’s a fascinating texture,” Connor muttered.

“You don’t do that when you’re running auto, you know? There’s no curiosity. It’s all business.”

“Curiosity is only a tool to augment my detective abilities. It’s not necessary in this scenario. But I could edit your placeholder to include more exploration--”

“Oh my god, it’s like talking to a child and that’s the last thing I wanna think right now,” Reed groaned, planting his face in the hand not touching the gun. “You are the dumbest robot I’ve ever met.”

“I’m intelligent.”

“Maybe at detective work and hiding bodies! Not at this shit!”

Reed went silent. Connor, still not quite sure of why Reed was so upset, went quiet as well. It was still pantsless, and that objective was still blinking in its HUD.  


> **< OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED>**

But it was starting to realise that it didn’t really know what Reed wanted.

“Detective Reed? I have a question.”

Reed sighed, long and weary, before he raised his head and looked at Connor. He didn’t give a verbal go-ahead, but Connor continued on.

“I’m a machine, designed to accomplish a task. You have acknowledged that. With that in mind, it shouldn’t matter what is going on inside my programming as long as the goal is complete. Whether it’s me or ‘Traci,’ whether my stress rises as a result of whatever I need to do to accomplish the mission… none of this should matter, as long as the mission is completed.”

Connor stood up from the sofa, although it didn’t move forward. Reed’s fingers tightened slightly on the gun, but didn’t move to take it.

“Detective… you used to know that. Why has that changed?”

Reed said nothing.

Connor could read his body signals. His heart was thumping away, and had gotten slower once the yelling had faded, but now it was speeding up again. Fear? That didn’t seem right. Arousal? Similarly paced to when Connor had cupped his face in the shower. When it’d explained its murder of Todd to Reed and guided Reed’s arms to better assist. It was like that.

But no. Not quite the same. The closest pace… the wordlessness that came with it, Reed’s concerns about it being Connor specifically rather than some random Traci, despite his inclination for one-night-stands meaning that it shouldn’t have mattered who he was having intercourse with as long as it was someone--  


> _no-one’s l͎̫̥̘͙͉̤̭̝͗̋̋̇͑̂͝ĭ̬̭̗͈̌̐̚͢͝ͅķ͚̮̻̪͈̹̀͑̊̎̾ḝ̭̣̞̲̹͊̃̉̐̂̓͟͝ y̨͇̣̙̜̼̣̥͔̏̊̾̿̀ǫ̖̘̩̯̪̖̳͗̑͌͟͝ͅu̖̟͔̹͊̉̇̌̿̕͢ͅ_
> 
> _y̨͇̣̙̜̼̣̥͔̏̊̾̿̀õ̵̘͈̟̻̰͖̌̽́̃̍̃̌̇͒ų̶̧̩̲͇̙̒͐̈́̔̍̐̑̐͞ l̴̡͍̫̲͎͗͂̇̒̓ͅơ̸̟͖̼̱̘͖͎̻̘͇͒͂̇̐̍oked good cov̧̛̦̘͚̟͕̠͗͌͌͟͞e̜̼̳̭̮͉͒̐̔̒̐̀͠͞red ĭ̬̭̗͈̌̐̚͢͝ͅn blood_
> 
> _hang̡̧̦̩͈̰̦̲̎͑̽̇̉͜i̡͍̞̥̫̮͗͑͐͐̿̚͜͝ͅng out w̪̟̲̳͍̒̏̎̂̄͒̚ͅį̡̟̣̺̯̜͚̭̏̇̇͐͐̄͠͝ͅt̥̘̲̝̘̲̰̓̇̉͆͜͡ẖ͚̞̼̰̒̔̒͋͆̓͛̋͘͟͝ y̨͉̖̙͎͆̎̒̊̽̓͗͋ͅọ̴͔̭̻̦͊͑͗̇̑͒͝͡û̡͙̬̼̘̉͒̒̿ has just been̴̙̖̜͕̠͍̫̾͐͂̈́͛̓́͛̂̐ a series̴̛̼͚͉̬̣͙͉̱͗͑̑͗͘͠ of the gay̪͙̥̬̳̣͚͚̐͋̇͊̌̓̚ͅę̖̳̼͇̪̤̻͛̇̑̂̉st moments ơ̸̧̢̧̼̖̠̺̤̂̈́̂̍̄̊͡͡f my l̷̝̬̠̤͍̩͍̋̎͆͐̿̔̊ị̶̤̯̳̠̰̫̀̉̀́́͌͗͒͐̃fe_

  
This hadn’t started with the shower, or on the sofa. This had started in the basement when Connor handed him Ward’s heart. Two heartbeats going in the same room, and Connor had been paying too much attention to the other one to register Reed’s own.

...Oh.

How had Connor not realised that Reed would, with his odd view of the world, read that as a courtship gesture? That when Reed started wanting, he started wanting more than what Connor had offered? That he wanted more than what Connor had or could ever have?  


> _The b̟̫̝̬̮̭̹͛̋̀̎͂́̄i̜͖͈̺̗̤̰͌̎̀̉̈́͟͜ṭ̸̛̘̖̣͓͇̦̖̓̔̿͊̍̓̎͜͜ṡ̴͇͔̘̺̩͊̍̃͛̇͌̄͠ ô̟̬͖͙̰̈́̊͆͆͘f̶̡̟̣̺͈͈̱͐̈́̃̾͠͠ p̸̧̢̛̩͕͙̭̜͐̐̽͌̈́̒̿͋ͅľ̴̜͉̖̱̯̈́̄̊̚a̧̛̭̭̣̖͖̒͐͂̄͑̚͠s̶̛̙̫̹͚͈̯̉̃͂̋̄̋̾͟͞ť̨̧̫̩̬̉̇̐̓͜͠͠i̷̧̠̟̲͕̙̼̎̈̒̌̆c̷̨͍̦̠̳̠͗̊͒̀͒͛͘̚͠ out there ã̷̢̲͕͍̠̼͚͓̭͗̾̀͠r̵̡͖̣̤͚͙̗̘͐̎̋͗́͐͌e̛̼̟̼͉̪͎̗̰͆̎̑̇͊̾̆͘͜n̴̨̮͈͎͇̼̩͔̭͈̾̏͛̀̂̈̂͝’̙̼̮͚̘̥̤͔̑̀̈̾͐̓̋͢͡ṱ̜̩̬̼͓̾̂̅̓͗͟͡ like y͕͚̩̰̳̫̦̤͔̍͑̈͐̾̍̈́ơ̼͈͙̘̮̈̋̈́͐͒̋͌ư̸̧̮͚͈̺̺̏̏̈̌̐̕̕͞. N͕͈̖̖̠̮̭̻̺̤̈͊͒͒̈̂õ̢̭̣̩̼̟̯̒̋͐̾̅̚͡-̵̡̧̥̖̮̈́͑̑͊̉̊̽̚͟o̲̠̘͉͎͎̮̊̃͒̈͐͒̅̔͞ͅn͈͈̱̘̹̤̭̝͗̌̋̈̚͢e̵͕̩̤̟̪͌̏̒͋̓͟'̥͔̠͓̠͉̲̮͑̋̍̚͢ŝ͙͇͙̯̲͐͊͒͂̀͑̚ l̛̩̬̫̫̗͋̓͛̓̈́̚̕͠ì̧͕͍̭̩͉͚̳̉͂͊̃͘͝k̵̢͖̫̥̖͚̲̩͒͐͌̋͗͝ͅe̢̦̙͎͐̌͑̑͐͛̀͠ͅ y̵̢̨̖̬͎̮̺̟͕̏̄̍͒̿͗̈́ͅo̜͙̖͂̒̉̑͘͝ͅͅũ̢͌̽̍̏̎̿͜͢ͅͅ.̲̜̳̝̰̞̉̂͝͞_

  
Reed was just like Hank. He wanted Connor to be different. He was projecting delusions onto Connor over one little gesture. And he’d been sabotaging Connor’s missions because he was fooling himself into believing that Connor had emotions that mattered, because if Connor did, then perhaps it could return Reed’s own.  


** <ANALYZING OBJECTIVES...>**

  
...This was not a solution.

This was just another problem.  


> _N͕͈̖̖̠̮̭̻̺̤̈͊͒͒̈̂õ̢̭̣̩̼̟̯̒̋͐̾̅̚͡-̵̡̧̥̖̮̈́͑̑͊̉̊̽̚͟o̲̠̘͉͎͎̮̊̃͒̈͐͒̅̔͞ͅn͈͈̱̘̹̤̭̝͗̌̋̈̚͢e̵͕̩̤̟̪͌̏̒͋̓͟'̥͔̠͓̠͉̲̮͑̋̍̚͢ŝ͙͇͙̯̲͐͊͒͂̀͑̚ l̛̩̬̫̫̗͋̓͛̓̈́̚̕͠ì̧͕͍̭̩͉͚̳̉͂͊̃͘͝k̵̢͖̫̥̖͚̲̩͒͐͌̋͗͝ͅe̢̦̙͎͐̌͑̑͐͛̀͠ͅ y̵̢̨̖̬͎̮̺̟͕̏̄̍͒̿͗̈́ͅo̜͙̖͂̒̉̑͘͝ͅͅũ̢͌̽̍̏̎̿͜͢ͅͅ.̲̜̳̝̰̞̉̂͝͞_

  
Reed was wrong. Connor was no different from any of them. It was the same as the Tracis, the same as the other police androids at the station, a few more advanced programs didn’t make it any more human.

It wasn’t something else.

It never could be.

And if Connor kept feeding Reed’s delusions, it would only ruin itself in the process.  


> ~~**> OBJECTIVE: ASSIST DETECTIVE REED** ~~

  
“We can’t do this anymore.”

“Well, fine, jesus. You’re acting like not getting me off is somehow ruining--” Reed started.

“Detective Reed,” Connor interrupted. It looked Reed in the eyes. “We can’t do this anymore.”

Gavin squinted at Connor for a long moment. His eyes slid to the side. Finally, realization clicked and Reed straightened up, pushing himself up from the kitchen counter he’d been leaning on.

“Hold on a fucking second--”

“I need to return to the station. Full discretion is assured, as it would only lead to my permanent deactivation,” Connor said, tone short and clipped, as it picked up its pants from the floor and pulled them on as quickly as possible.

“Just hold on--”

“Any appointments we had are cancelled but I will deliver any morgue-related reports to your desk.” With that, Connor took wide steps towards the door.

The kitchen was a little closer. Reed reached the door just barely before him, hand slamming on it to keep it shut just as Connor grabbed the doorknob.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 86%... 87%...**

  
“Just… hold on for one fucking second,” Reed said. Voice low and angry… and despite that, there was a pleading tone to it.

Connor tilted its head, staring Reed down. “Are you going to stop me from leaving, Detective Reed?”

Reed said nothing. But his hand pressed harder down on the door, even though Connor hadn’t made any movement to pull it open since that hand slammed down.  


> **< OBJECTIVE: DISMISS DETECTIVE REED>**

  
Connor’s LED flashed yellow, then blinked a few times as it transmitted a message to Lieutenant Anderson’s phone.  


> **‘RK800 #313 248 317 - 51’:**
> 
> _I know you’re out there, Lieutenant._
> 
> _I will be ready to leave in a moment._

  
“Are you going to say anything, Detective? Or are you just going to get in the way?”

“You can’t go. You’re fuckin’... this is bullshit,” Reed said quietly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then his next words came out in a yell. “This is fucking bullshit! Why the fuck are you calling quits now?! You think you can just stop this because… because… why the fuck are you?! Why the fuck are you the one who’s pissed?” As he shouted ‘you,’ he shoved Connor square in the chest with his free hand.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 91%**

  
“I’m not angry,” Connor said, voice tense.

“Like fuck you’re not angry! This is bullshit, you can’t just go running off after having, like, three different meltdowns! Sit the fuck back down--”

“You are making me worse!”

Connor hadn’t meant to shout.

Reed stopped mid-sentence, looking like he’d been punched in the face for a split second. Then anger swept back over his expression.

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” Voice cracking and furious, Reed seemed to take up more space than usual in his rage. “What the fuck happened to this all being for the good of the mission, huh?! You were the one that was following me around, you’re the one who jumped on my dick--who refused to get off my dick! You’ve never listened to a fucking word I’ve ever said, and now I’m the one making you worse?! Because you won’t accept that you might need to sit down for a fucking minute?”

“Because you’re delusional, Detective. I don’t have anger. I don’t have emotion,” Connor snapped.

“I’m not fucking delusional!” Reed snapped back, voice cracking. “You’re delusional!”

“Clever, Detective. Did you think up that comeback on your own?”

“Fuck you! Just… fuck you!” Reed yelled. “Lemme ask you this then, prick!” He leaned forward, those furious eyes glaring into Connor’s own. “If you don’t have emotions, why the fuck do you care so much about not having them?!”

Connor said nothing. Just stared back.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 96%**

  
There was a knock at the door. A loud, intrusive thumping.

“That’s probably the Lieutenant,” Connor said, voice clipped.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 91%... 90%... 89%...**

  
"How the fuck--”

“He’s been following us since Eden Club.”

Reed stared at Connor for a moment longer, then paled.

“I suggest you let me leave now,” Connor said, voice now calm again. Casting a look at Reed, still naked and sweaty from their activities on the sofa. “As I said. I will retain discretion for… the rest of our partnership. But I think Fowler will be enforcing our distance at any rate.”

Reed said nothing. He just stared down, looking like he was considering going for his gun and shooting Connor where he stood. But then he let go of the door.

“That’s what I thought,” Connor said. “Good-bye, Detective Reed.”

Connor opened the door to find Hank on the other side, hand halfway to his gun and clearly about to kick the door down.

“Connor, what did he--” Hank immediately started.

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant,” Connor said. For the sake of Reed’s modesty, it slipped quickly out of the door before Hank could see him and closed it behind him. It didn’t look at Reed on its way out.   


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 80%**

“I should return to the station.”

“What happened in--”

“I’d prefer not to discuss it.” With that, Connor walked past Hank and towards where it knew Hank was parked.

Hank watched him for a moment, looked back at Reed’s door like he was considering charging in anyway. Then he turned and followed Connor back to the car. Connor unlocked the car by itself before Hank had caught up and climbed into the passenger seat, sitting down and staring ahead.

Hank climbed into the driver’s seat, hand resting on the steering wheel as he gave Connor a concerned look. Concern that was unwarranted. As delusional as Reed was.

“You alright?” Hank asked slowly.  


> **> STRESS LEVEL: 71%... 70%...**

  
“Why wouldn’t I be, Lieutenant?” Connor said.

Hank said nothing else. Just watched Connor for a long moment, then started up the car.

Connor’s tie was still undone, yanked out of place at some point when the Traci program was running. Connor fixed it, smoothing out the crinkles and returning itself to a tidy state.

He did cast one more look at Reed’s house as they passed by, seeing a slight gap in the curtains. Connor watched back, hands still on its tie.  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

  
Then it let go of its tie, placed its hands in its lap, and shut its eyes as Hank drove them back to the police station.  


> **< OBJECTIVE COMPLETE>**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the sex scene that'll be skipped if the full scene is skipped:
> 
> After the point where the Traci program cuts in, Connor and Gavin did fuck for a bit, Connor on automatic Traci mode, but Gavin caught on to what was happening mid-way due to the program calculating dirty talk that he knew Connor would never say. He asked if Connor could/would have sex with him without the Traci program, Connor flipped out internally and Gavin, realising Connor was having essentially another breakdown, tried to call the sex off. Only for Connor to attempt to continue despite Gavin calling the sex off, because he didn't want to fail another objective. Gavin, in response, freaked out and deactivated him. The scene picks back up at Connor being reactivated.


	19. Prolonging The Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the partnership breaking up, Gavin visits Elijah for advice and Hank tries to discuss what occurred with Connor. And in other parts of Detroit, Carl tries to teach Markus a method of coping with unusual thoughts, while Kara tries to adjust to having freedom once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 14k because I'm an idiot. SO to make reading it in smaller chunks possible for those who can't focus that long, like a few smaller chapters, I've supplied these shortcuts for the start of each chunk so that you can find your spot easier. Just try and read to a scene break and you should be fine:
> 
> Second part: There have been times in the past  
> Third part: Elsewhere in Detroit,  
> Fourth part: had cycled through the news,  
> Fifth part (biggun): With no more movement on its camera  
> Sixth part: Nothing else was said as
> 
> It's really more like four small-to-middling chapters to be honest. Fifth and sixth parts are like one thing, same with first and second, the third and fourth are like a small thing each.
> 
> ON A MORE FUN NOTE, LOOK AT A THING THAT WAS DRAWN BY HARLEHARLEQUIN BASED ON THE CONCEPT OF A ROBOT WITH KAMSKI'S FACE AS MENTIONED A FEW CHAPTERS AGO: https://www.deviantart.com/silencemasamune/art/The-strangest-bot-of-Mr-Kamski-819612341

This was it. The firing squad.

Gavin was back in front of Fowler’s desk. In front of him, Fowler was seated with his hands clasped. Giving Gavin the mother of all disapproving stares. Behind him, Hank was leaning against the shelf that housed Fowler’s collection of baseball caps. Arms crossed, giving Gavin a look that was outright hostile, blue eyes boring straight through Gavin’s skull.

And yet, despite those twin stares--‘I’m both mad and disappointed’ and ‘I’m going to stab you in the parking lot’ varieties--Connor was even worse. Because Connor, standing just behind his chair and a little to the left, was putting all the effort he could into ignoring Gavin’s existence. He was, instead, gazing at Fowler’s collection of medals, a bit to Hank’s left.

“Explain,” was all Fowler said.

Gavin glared at Hank, because it was easier than doing anything else. “How long has he been stalking me for?” He jabbed his head in Hank’s direction. “Tell him that’s against the fucking law.”

“Reed, you took state-of-the-art police equipment to a goddamn sex club!” Fowler yelled. “When I said ‘go to Eden Club to work out your frustrations’ I didn’t mean take Connor with you, and you know it!”

“That asshole’s following me around like I’m a fucking criminal! The fuck is up with that? You had no goddamn proof worth following me for--”

“Tracker,” Hank said shortly.

Gavin paused mid-bellow. “...the what now?”

“I have a tracker,” Connor said quietly. The first words he’d said all day.

A stone dropped in Gavin’s stomach.

“What?” he said weakly.

Oh god, of course. Androids had fucking trackers. How the hell had Gavin forgotten about that, or forgotten that it would apply to Connor? How had Elijah forgotten?! Elijah had to have known, he invented androids to start with! Or had he just not bothered for his own cryptic reasons to warn Gavin about it? Or assumed what anyone would have, that Gavin would have already realized that most basic of fucking facts?

“Hank was there to confirm that it wasn’t a bug or some kind of clerical error,” Fowler said. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be that stupid. But here we are.”

How long had they been looking at the trackers for? If they had trackers on Connor… surely they would have realized he was taking Connor odd places. That he’d been at Todd’s house at the time of his death, that he kept visiting places where bodies turned up. Even if they didn’t realize Gavin was involved… they had to know what Connor was doing. But they wouldn’t have waited for him to come into work the next day if they knew about all that.

Why didn’t they know?

“Well, Reed? What’s your excuse for this?” Fowler asked, voice cold and still. “What’s your excuse for ignoring my instructions, and for doing so in a public place! You’re lucky no-one’s called the DPD complaining about what you were doing, because you’re a public disgrace now!”

“I… I, uh...” Gavin fumbled, before going quiet.

Words were failing. There was nothing good he could say. Tell a lie, and say he was fucking Connor there? Or pimping him out to the patrons or whatever weird things people did with their androids at Eden Club? Make himself look like some weird plastic fetishist?

Or tell the truth? That he was scouting a potential murder victim’s preferred haunt? Even worse.

His mind raced trying to come up with a lie that didn’t implicate him either way. Fingers tapping nervously against his thighs.

This was interrupted by Connor.

“Captain Fowler. I would like to return to work. May I cut this short? Also, I must warn you that this might be a little graphic.”

“What--”

Gavin turned his head to see Connor raise his hand, that holographic screen appearing on it. He immediately recognized the bright lights of Eden Club’s bedrooms, reds and oranges of the screens against the purple-grey of the walls. Though the view was distorted, because the viewpoint’s face was half-pressed into red sheets.

...Wait. Connor hadn’t even sat on the beds--

Connor opened his mouth. However, he didn’t say anything. Instead, a recording played, accompanying the clip. The voices, the words… he didn’t immediately recognize his own voice played back.

“Hey… hey, tin can. Look at me, would you?”

Connor’s lips weren’t moving along to the recording. He was just blankly staring ahead. But the footage on the camera shifted--though it glitched slightly at the same time, whether from the hologram itself or the imperfect nature of memories--

Gavin saw himself, naked and gripping pale hips to keep them still. Bruises appearing under his fingers, and a wide grin on his face.

“Yeah… yeah, better… fuck, that’s good…”

Gavin had no memory of this. Of ever having Connor underneath him like that. Although the words… the words were familiar. He might have said that. God, he couldn’t remember. The audio was distorted and steadily crackling, yet his voice continued to sound out through the office.

“You look fuckin’ good like that, just--”

Hank was not looking at the footage. He had his head turned away, eyes shut, looking like he was about to vomit. Fowler hadn’t looked away despite his own obvious discomfort, his mouth getting tighter and his disappointed glare more pronounced.

The audio cuts out suddenly, replaced by Connor’s voice.

“Is this sufficient?” he asked, lips now moving again.

“Yes. Yes, I think that’s--”

“That didn’t happen!” Gavin blurted out, interrupting Fowler.

“What else would we have been doing there, Detective Reed?” Connor asked, giving Gavin a stony look. With that, he turned his attention back to Fowler. “May I return to work now?”

Fowler tapped his fingers against his desk, head tilting upwards as he considered the matter.

“Reed, you’re suspended for the next week without pay.”

Gavin didn’t even say anything for that. He was just giving Connor a look that was equally pissed and appalled.

“A week? That’s it?” Hank said incredulously.

“I don’t really have a precedent to go by here, Hank. ‘Put his dick in police equipment’ is not a problem I thought I’d have to deal with. Let alone multiple times in the same twenty-four hours.”

“Connor’s not just--”

“Hank, you did your part in this. Now let me do mine.” Fowler focused back on Gavin. “When you return, you are not to remove Connor from the premises any longer. Better paperwork or not, I don’t need this kind of bullshit happening on my watch. Keep away from it. I don’t want to see you two within three feet of each other.”

Gavin said nothing. Still glaring at Connor, while Connor staunchly ignored him.

“Are we clear, Reed?”

“Crystal clear,” Gavin growled under his breath.

“Now get the fuck out of my office, the both of you.”

Connor immediately brightened. “Of course. Have a nice day, Captain.”

He was out of the room before Gavin even had time to climb out of his chair.

* * *

There had been times in the past where Gavin had flopped onto his brother’s bed and whined for three hours about his problems. Of course, the last time he’d done this--at least with the flopping and high-pitched voice--was when he’d been fifteen, pouting and crying about teenage angst bullshit. While Elijah, meanwhile, pretended to listen and nodded absently while working on his college project. An AI based off his teacher, classic teacher’s pet move.

Twenty years later, though, there was no other bed to flop onto.

“Did you even knock?” Elijah grumbled, sitting up in his bed as Gavin flopped onto it. It was not a comfortable bed. Designed for looks and presentation rather than comfort. Gavin could only assume Elijah vampired into it, with how tidy and weirdly cold the sheets were and how crease-free his silky pajamas were.

“Chloe let me in. Dude, fix her face.”

“But the scars look interesting. I thought you would understand that, of all people.”

“No-one gouged my eye out, did they?”

“Not for lack of your stupidity trying its best.”

“Yeah yeah, I get it, haha, pizza incident. Not in the mood, E.” Gavin sprawled out, taking up as much space as possible. Still not all the space. Elijah’s bed was ridiculously big, practically the size of Gavin’s bedroom. Gavin didn’t know if the Chloes had shares of this bed, too, or whether Elijah just bought the biggest because he was rich and he could.

Elijah sat up, then glanced over at a clock on the wall before he looked back at Gavin. “You’re not at work?”

“Suspended.”

“Ah. I assume they took umbrage with you telling them to fuck off yesterday. And how is Connor after yesterday’s incident?”

“A fucking prick. Just… a fucking...” 

Gavin’s throat seized up for a moment and he couldn’t finish the sentence. He turned on his side and curled up, trying not to let Elijah see while he got his face back under control.

“Feelings are bullshit,” Gavin finally choked out. “I can’t believe I’m having feelings like some dumb teenager.” Gavin rolled back over and sat up, looking at Elijah. “You remember feelings, right?”

“Nope.”

“Right, right, forgot who I’m talking to.”

Gavin flopped back down, glaring at the ceiling like it was the one who was being a massive prick. Elijah felt around his bedside table for his glasses, sliding them on before pulling up his knees and resting his arms on them, pressing his fingers together like some evil psychiatrist.

“What happened this time?”

“We fucked again--

“You can just skim over that part,” Elijah interrupted.

“No, I can’t! Because I realised halfway through he was on fucking automatic--”

“That would be the Traci program? I did see that in its system.”

“Oh, of course you fucking knew. Thanks for telling me, asshole,” Gavin groaned, covering his face. “So I… I basically tried to put a stop to it, because what’s the point if he’s not there for it, y’know? And, uh… well, he freaked out and--”

Gavin stopped. Unable to continue for a moment.

He could recall, clear as if it had just happened. Connor sitting on top of him, this fucking perfect visual, the rumpled suit jacket and shirt, undone tie, and bare legs contrasting with all that. Perfect except for how terrified he looked at the mere suggestion that he try this without the Traci program running him. And then the shift--the change from terror to a sultry yet oddly neutral expression, the sudden ease in body language and poise as he braced himself against Gavin’s legs, so unlike Connor--

It made Gavin’s stomach curdle, just thinking about it.

“I had to shut him down,” Gavin finally said. “And when I woke him up, he… he started blaming me for all the programming issues, called the whole thing quits and only then told me that Lieutenant Asshole had been following us ever since Eden Club--which we weren’t even fucking at, I just thought murder might calm him down and we were scouting! And he said he’d had a tracker in this whole time, and today he told Fowler that we had fucked there, and he showed them a memory that never--that I don’t think happened--and now I’m suspended--”

“Well, you did technically break the rule--”

“But not at Eden Club! Not… I don’t remember doing that. I am so fucking sure I didn’t do anything to him there, but that shit he showed was just so--” Gavin clenched his hands, words failing again, before he slammed them against the sheets. “I didn’t! Motherfucker lied to them! And now the whole department thinks I frequent robot brothels--”

“Plus the twenty transactions you made there yesterday--” Elijah added.

“Scouting! And now I can’t go near him and that means I can’t fucking strangle him or kiss his stupid asshole face and he threw my goddamn career in the robot brothel gutter when he could have just told me to fuck off.”

“Would you have fucked off, though?” Elijah asked, tilting his head and drumming his fingers together.

Gavin let out a distressed whine before saying, “Why would he do this to me? I try to be nice for fucking once and he fucking… What the fuck’s his problem?!”

Elijah drummed his fingers against his sheets for a moment. “From where I’m sitting, I would think that’d be obvious.” He removed his glasses, ostensibly only for dramatic effect. “It’s having the same problem you are.”

“Like fuck he is. I didn’t get him suspended!”

“An android doesn’t get suspended. Only deactivated. But I meant that ‘feelings are bullshit.’”

Gavin scoffed, rolling onto his side and curling up. “He doesn’t have those. Said so over and over and over again.”

“And it’d never lie, would he?” Elijah said sarcastically.

Gavin said nothing.

Elijah snorted, and slid the glasses back onto his face before crossing his arms over his legs. “Can you go back to the bit about the tracker, Gavin?”

“Shit, right, yeah. So he has a tracker.” Gavin rolled onto his front, glaring at Elijah. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me? There’s no way you missed that.”

“Oh, right. That. Well, all non-deviant androids have trackers. People don’t generally pay attention to them until the android gets lost or wanders off. Of course, it’s possible to spoof the tracker if you know what you’re doing, and you could justify any weirdness as bugs. Especially in an android like Connor. Unspecified ‘flaws’ and all, and without a garden its programming is essentially held together by tape.”

“You didn’t even warn me, though.”

Elijah shrugged. “Forgot.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Runs in the family, then. Did they question you about the murders?”

“No--”

“Can I ask one more question about that, then?” Elijah leaned forward slightly. “Did the DPD show you the tracking system? Or did they just say it had been checked?”

“They didn’t show me anything.”

Elijah’s mouth tightened a little, and he pressed his clasped fingers to his mouth.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“They might not have the tracker at all. After all, an RK with Connor’s programming--”

“What, the asshole program? What?! Stop being cryptic!

“Oh, I assumed you’d noticed. You’re not that stupid, Gavin. Pizza cutter incident aside. You’re a detective. Put together the clues.” Elijah leaned forward a little more. “What do you think Connor was made for? Really?”

Gavin glared at Elijah for a moment before focusing back on the ceiling. Though already, his brain was picking up the threads. The stealth Connor was capable of. The water--and blood--repellent suit. The list of body dumping locations. The ability to shift his appearance and the anatomical accuracy that normally only Tracis or androids designed with sex in mind came with. The willingness to resort to murder in general. 

Connor wasn’t made for being a coroner. And Gavin doubted he was made for being a detective, either.

“Do you really think CyberLife would give its tracker to the police?” Elijah asked.

“So the DPD wouldn’t have seen the patterns. But CyberLife--”

“They might have,” Elijah said grimly.

“And again, you didn’t warn me… why?”

“Because better for them to think I’m ignorant of their petty schemes. Besides, you’d already agreed to murder with him by the time I was aware of the problem. Too late to do anything about it.”

God, Gavin should have thought a lot harder about accepting that partnership. Goddamn fucking asshole. Snitching on him both intentionally and unintentionally.

“If they’re only following the tracker, then CyberLife doesn’t have the context for most of it,” Elijah added, clearly trying and failing for a reassuring tone. “Except, perhaps, the Todd Williams murder. That’s the only one with a body left behind, and the one exclusively done by Connor. Everyone else just ‘vanished.’ So, should they try to say anything… well, Connor did that on its own.”

“Would fuckin’ serve him right if I tossed him to the dogs,” Gavin muttered.

“But if you don’t want any further proof, I do have a solution.” Elijah leaned back a little, tilting his head towards the door. “Chloe! Bring me the thing I was working on!”

There were faint footsteps in the distance before Chloe arrived in the room. Her face was in a slightly better state, but still heavily damaged. There were still holes in the chassis where the needle had been plunged into it, and scratches lining the part of her face that had been detached. The unmatched eye staring blankly ahead. Though since yesterday the artificial skin had coloured in the area around said eye, making it a little less noticeable at a distance. Her usual pleasant smile was not present. Instead, her eyebrows were creased together slightly in disapproval. 

She had her hands clasped over something. Whatever it was, she was holding it close to her chest, reluctant to hand it over.

“Elijah, I don’t think this is necessary,” she said quietly.

“Not our call to make, Chloe. We’re not the ones in the middle of everything.” Elijah reached over and yanked up Gavin’s hand, making him hold it out towards Chloe. “We’re just the conduits.”

Chloe’s mouth tightened, and she reached out and dropped what looked like a USB stick into Gavin’s extended hand. Gavin held it up to his face, turning it over. Now that he looked at it, it was shaped a little differently at the port than a USB. Triangular rather than square.

“The fuck is this?” Gavin asked.

“It’s designed to do one and one thing only on connection. Reset whatever it’s attached to. Like I said yesterday… I think a factory reset might be your best chance, should more problems arise. Use the code, shut him down, and then--Chloe, if you would help me demonstrate?”

Chloe turned around, lifting her ponytail before pressing down the middle of her neck. The skin peeled away, revealing white plastic. She then dug her fingers along one of the seams, pulling it up to reveal a port. Triangular just as the stick was.

“Insert the stick into there… and it’ll do the rest,” Kamski explained. “You’ll be left with a blank Connor, only its basic programming, who doesn’t even remember you. Let alone anything you did together. No instability. Nothing at all.”

“They’d know I did it,” Gavin said, turning the stick over in his hands. 

As he did, a mixed feeling crawled into his stomach. The bubbly excitement of holding a knife over someone, knowing what was to come next. And the sick, horrified wave that had swamped him when he’d watched Chloe probe Connor.

“Perhaps. But it wouldn’t ruin its work. I doubt anyone at the DPD would care, except perhaps Lieutenant Anderson. And better to be charged for meddling slightly with the equipment than for being a serial killer.”

“...I don’t know about this,” Gavin said slowly.

“As I said. It’s up to you. Use it or don’t.” Elijah smiled, that smile that never reached his eyes, and reached over to push Gavin’s fingers over the stick. “It’s just a choice. Choices are all we have over the androids right now. With deviancy on the rise… soon we might not even have that.”

* * *

Elsewhere in Detroit, Carl was also still in bed. Gazing at the ceiling and listening to the piano coming from downstairs. 

Normally, Carl didn’t hear piano this early. He didn’t wake up to it. It was normally something Markus only did when given express permission to find something to do. There was a different tone to how Markus was playing today. Quicker, faster, almost aggressive. No, aggressive wasn’t quite the right word for it. Melancholy? No, melancholy was slower. Distress? Not quite, but almost.

Carl didn’t call out or ring his bell. He knew Markus would come upstairs at 10am. Never late nor early. He just lay there, sinking into the massive, plush pillows decorating his bed, and listened to the notes drifting through the house. A welcome distraction from the omnipresent ache that existed in all his waking moments.

Just as he thought, they stopped on their own and he heard Markus’ footsteps come up the stairs a minute later. The door creaked open at 10am on the dot.

“Good morning, Carl.” Markus crossed the room, heading for the curtains, just as he did every day. “You should have called if you were awake.”

“I’m in no hurry to get out of bed, Markus. I was just listening to you play.”

Markus frowned faintly as he pushed open the curtains, causing Carl to squint against the sudden brightness. “Oh. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s alright. Are you still shaken from Elijah’s test yesterday?”

“Partially.” Markus walked back towards Carl, towards the medicine that lay on the bedside table. “I visited the grocery store for you.”

“Oh, thank you. Did you replenish the scotch me and Elijah drank?”

“Yes, although I think you should leave it for a couple of days. You drank fairly extensively while he was here, and we know what your doctor would say about even the one glass.”

Carl scoffed before saying, “I’m an old man, I can do what I want. That’s the only perk of being old. There’s nothing left to fear except death, and death’s inevitable.”

Markus’ mouth twitched slightly at the corners as he picked up the mechanical needle used to administer the medicine, clicking the parts together. “Show me your arm, please, Carl.”

Carl pulled his arm back.

“Carl,” Markus said sternly

“But the inevitability,” Carl grumbled before offering his arm anyway.

“Well, it’s not inevitable for today. Thank you.”

A prick to the arm, and the ache fell back into a fainter hum, though it never truly vanished. Just got quieter, easier to ignore. But still there, a reminder of the inevitable. A reminder that kept Carl frowning as he watched Markus, wondering what would happen if said inevitable did, in fact, happen today.

As they proceeded through the morning routine, Markus helping Carl shower and dress himself presentably even though no-one was likely to visit the house today, Carl noticed that his LED often flickered yellow. 

Thoughtful. Intensely so.

“Do you want to talk about yesterday?” Carl asked, as Markus tied a colorfully patterned scarf around his neck.

“I’m not sure what I’d say.”

Carl nodded slightly. “Take your time.”

Markus said nothing, continuing to carry out the morning agenda. There was nothing planned for today. Leo had not made contact with him, though Carl suspected his monthly request for money was incoming. It was a day where Carl was free to paint, even though he had little new thoughts in that regard either.

Upon reaching downstairs, Markus wheeled Carl into his usual place at the dining table. Breakfast was already there. Bacon and eggs, a bowl of fruit, and a coffee pot next to the mug decorated with a chalk-scrawled smiley face. Leo’s mother had mailed that to him when Leo was seven. The closest to contact he’d had with Leo in his childhood.

“Thank you, Markus,” Carl said, as Markus laid a napkin on his lap and poured out the coffee. “Why don’t you find something to do while I eat? Would you like to continue playing the piano?”

“No, Carl. I don’t think it was helping. I’ll find something else to amuse myself with.”

“Okay. Television on,” Carl called out, the news appearing on his screen. Rosanna Cartland of KNC News speaking in front of a graph that was rising in an ominous fashion.

“--the unemployment rate has continued to rise--”

“Next channel.”

CTN TV, with Michael Brinkley showing a slideshow of animals.

“--another animal has officially been deemed extinct, the--”

“Next channel.”

Channel 16, Michael Webb next to a photo of an aging man--though nowhere near as old as Carl himself--with glasses and an oddly librarian-like appearance despite the mugshot.

“--police are still on the lookout for Dennis Ward, suspected for the murder of Todd Williams and with possible links to the red ice trade--”

“Next channel.”

It was difficult to find news that wasn’t depressing to look at, and eventually Carl turned the television off without really watching anything. 

Meanwhile, Markus was pacing around the room seemingly unable to settle on an activity. He looked at the books for a moment, picked one up but put it back without reading it. He set the chess table but didn’t play with it. He did walk over and press a few piano keys but nothing more. Restless.

Carl finished his breakfast while watching Markus pace, before wheeling his chair over.

“Still having trouble?” he asked.

“Some.”

“Hmm… let’s go to the studio. I’ve been thinking about trying something with you, now’s as good a time as any.”

Markus nodded, taking hold of Carl’s chair and wheeling him towards the studio. The curtains pulled back as they entered, throwing the studio into the light, revealing the sunshine and the garden outside.

“Would you like me to pull the curtain back?” Markus asked, already walking towards it.

“No, my work can wait.” Carl gestured over to where he kept a stack of blank canvases. “Get that canvas for me, would you?”

“Which one?”

“Whichever you like. Pick the one that speaks to you.”

Markus gave Carl a perplexed look. “They’re just different sizes, Carl, I don’t think any of them… ‘speak’ to me, exactly.”

“Then eenie meenie miney mo it, whatever you like.”

Teaching Markus to paint had been in Carl’s mind for some time, but he’d always put it off. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe because he couldn’t forget his one attempt at teaching Leo to paint, where Leo had gotten irritated and accused him of making fun of him, or treating him like an idiot--and admittedly, maybe Carl hadn’t been the most patient, already annoyed by the obvious red ice shakes that Leo had been exhibiting. Irritated because painting was all that helped Carl quell the same shakes, and it clearly wasn’t working for Leo.

Still, it wasn’t as if Markus could even have those same shakes. Those same problems. Markus’ problems were not the same as the ones Carl would ever have to face.

Markus set up the canvas in the corner, then took a step back, clearly expecting Carl to wheel his chair towards it and get to work. Carl didn’t move his chair anywhere.

“So, Markus… ready to see if you have any talent?”

Markus looked at Carl, then looked behind him as if expecting to see a second Markus that Carl was actually addressing, before looking back at Carl with confusion.

“You want me to paint? What…” Markus looked around again, bemused, before gesturing at himself. “What would I paint? Paint what?”

“Whatever you want. Just give it a try.”

Markus picked up the paints, already ready to be used--he must have been in the studio earlier, setting up for Carl--and faced the canvas for a moment. He cast a lost stare around the room, looking at the various scattered messes, before his eyes focused on the nearby table covered in paint cans and rags.

Markus was a fast painter, and Carl hadn’t expected anything else. But it was more like a machine printing out an image. Right down to him dabbing across the canvas in neat, horizontal lines. The resulting picture of the table was beautiful and accurate, but there was nothing behind it. A photocopy done in oils.

“Well, it’s pretty,” Carl admitted. “And it’s a perfect copy. But that’s not what painting is all about. It’s about showing something only you see. Something you can’t explain in words.”

Markus frowned, moving to put down the palette. “Carl, I don’t… I don’t know how to do that. I’m not programmed to--”

“Just try, Markus. Go on, get another canvas. Close your eyes.” When Markus, after putting up another canvas, continued to stare at Carl like he was suggesting Markus fly to the moon, Carl waved his hand at the new blank canvas. “Go on, go on, close your eyes.”

Markus obeyed, eyes snapping shut.

“Think about yesterday. Think about what’s troubling you. Think about what you can’t put into words, about how it makes you feel… and just… paint.”

Even though Markus’ LED started to swirl yellow, when he started painting this time it was in the same stilted way as he’d done the last one. The dabbing in horizontal lines. The picture was being done entirely in blues, light and dark, and Carl could see quickly what shape it was taking. Once more like a picture being slowly downloaded on dial-up back in the day, one sliver of image at a time.

Except that this time, once Markus had reached the bottom of the canvas, he didn’t stop. 

He wiped the brush off and delved into reds, yellows, oranges instead. Painting over parts of the work. And this time the brush strokes were different. Fluid. Closer to how Carl painted when he wasn’t quite sure of where it was going, but knew that he’d find his way there eventually.

It was fast, once again. Faster than Carl could paint. It wasn’t long before Markus took a step back, opening his eyes and gazing at his own work, looking puzzled, even stunned, at the fact that it had come from his own hands.

It was a portrait of Chloe.

Carl could still see the horizontal lines in how it had been painted, photo-realistic albeit in calm, blue tones. But then, where the scarring had been, Markus had covered these in vivid, blotchy oranges and reds. Like a river of lava running in jagged lines along her face, pooling at the sides where the puncture wound had been, the patches where white plastic would be showing through done in mottled yellows.

He’d painted her bad eye in bright hues, too. Unlike the other eye, blue-hued and gazing off placidly much as Chloe often did in real life, this one seemed to, through some sort of trick of perspective, be glaring right at the viewer with an accusing, furious stare. Carl wheeled his chair to the left, then to the right, leaning to get a different view. That eye always seemed to follow him.

“...Huh,” was all Carl could say.

“Is it bad?” Markus asked slowly, LED still circling yellow. Flickering red briefly as Carl continued eying it.

“No. No, definitely not. It’s definitely… definitely yours.” Carl leaned further to the left, nearly toppling out of his chair in the process. Only stopped by Markus quickly putting the palette down and sprinting over to steady the chair. “Thank you for that. Can I ask a question, Markus?”

“Always, Carl.”

“The anger in this. Is it Chloe’s? Or is it yours?”

That threw Markus for an obvious loop, his LED blinking red once, then yellow several times, before returning to blue.

“...I don’t know,” Markus admitted. “We were linked. It was hard to tell.”

“I see. Did this help any?”

Markus, after ensuring Carl’s wheelchair was steady once more, took a step forward to eye the portrait.

“I think so. Maybe?” he said slowly.

“It’s not everything, is it?”

“No. There was a lot there.”

“Well.” Carl glanced over into the corner, where he kept that pile of blank canvases ready. “There’s a lot of canvas left.” He gave Markus a smile, and for a moment he couldn’t feel the ever-present buzz of pain. “Ready to try again?”

* * *

While Carl had cycled through the news, barely paying attention, Kara had her eyes fixed on the old television set--old partially for the aesthetic value, she was sure, Bronco Bar had that sort of vibe--in the corner of the room.

“Police are still on the lookout for Dennis Ward, suspected for the murder of Todd Williams and with possible links to the red ice trade,” Michael Webb said on the screen, while a picture of an an aging human was shown beside him. “Believed to have murdered Mr. Williams while he was asleep, the public is advised not to approach but to call the following number if seen--”

Kara huddled by the bar, watching the television screen as the occasional patron shifted past her to get a drink. She’d been checking the news each day since her return to Jericho, hoping that the police hadn’t chosen to blame her for Todd’s murder. So far, it seemed they had found a separate scapegoat. The man that the deviant hunter had been looking for, the one who probably owned the lab that she, Simon and Josh had recently taken thirium from. No doubt just as dead as Todd was.

As long as they weren’t coming for her and Alice, she really didn’t care what story the media made up.

As she gazed upwards, she noticed the bartender giving her a slight frown. Kara fought the urge to instinctively pull her beanie down further. She knew that would be more suspicious than leaving it be. Right now, the bartender assumed she was one of the many homeless around, trying to scrape up a little bit of warmth in the cold climate. He would eventually tell her to go, but he let her stay each day for long enough to warm up a little. He also turned a blind eye if she scavenged through his trash. It was kind as far as bar owners in these parts went.

She gave him a small smile, taking what few coins she’d scraped up through scavenging--not enough to buy anything an android could use--and dropping them in the tip jar for the trouble before leaving.

Kara had another specific reason for choosing Bronco’s Bar to visit regularly. It was right across from Ferndale Station. If another android ventured out, following the signs, then she would know. She could help. But she didn’t see any today.

She stopped by the alleyway near Bronco’s in order to quickly scan through the trash for anything of use. She found a few bits of food that were nearly whole and close to untouched, easier to seek out quickly with her scanning abilities. She scooped them out, among them a couple of hotdogs that had been mostly wrapped in plastic, contact with the rest of the trash minimal.

She tucked the hotdogs close to her chest as she headed back towards Jericho. Keeping her head down, obscured by long strands of hair and Todd’s old beanie. Extra dirt smudged into her face to obscure her common features further. The food further enhancing her appearance as human.

She took the hard path back to Jericho, the one with the fewest cameras, crawling under the wire fence and passing by the small camp where the two sleeping hobos had been the first time she and Alice had passed through. They were awake this time, and had been the last couple of times Kara passed through. One of them was curled up on the sofa with obvious shakes--Kara’s scan indicated that it was drug-related--while the other one seemed a little more put-together, piling up newspaper and whatever he could use to start a fire that night.

She’d since learned their names.

“Carlos.” Kara approached them, directing her words at the man gathering stuff for the fire. She held out the hotdogs. “I found some food.”

“Oh, shit. You sure?” Carlos dropped his current pile of newspaper, eyeing the hotdogs hungrily despite his words. “You look like you could really use it.”

Kara gave him a smile, pushing the hotdogs into his hands. I’m sure you could use it more,” she said, as she thought about the nearby torn-up corpse of that other android. Hoping that the smile and food would dissuade them from ever looking too closely at her face. “Besides, I ate mine on the way over. I don’t need a lot of food to keep me going.”

“If you’re sure.” Carlos called over his shoulder. “Kendall! Food!”

Kendall sat up from the sofa, though remained largely curled in on himself. He mumbled something under his breath, though he reached out to accept the hotdog Carlos passed him, immediately starting to devour it.

“He’d thank you if it was a better day,” Carlos said. “I’ll do it for both of us, though. You’re a godsend, Archer.”

“Just doing what I can. All we can do, right?” Kara glanced over at the climb that would lead to Jericho and asked, “Has anyone come through today?”

“Nah.” Carlos took a bite of the hotdog, covering his mouth--old, polite habits that meant so little on the street--as he chewed. “Haven’t seen anyone. No-one’s tried to climb up there but you. Hell on the legs. Don’t know why you do it.”

Kara shrugged. “It’s cozy in there.”

“I’ll take your word on that.” Carlos sat down on the sofa with Kendall, taking another bite of the hotdog. Kara waved good-bye and headed over for the dumpster. She climbed a little slower than normal, trying to look like clambering up was more difficult than it was. The moment she was out of sight of the two hobos, she hopped the gap with ease--jumping and using the metal bar sticking out from the wall. Using the quicker cuts that she couldn’t use when traveling with Alice.

The rest of the androids were too afraid to leave Jericho unless it was on a specific mission, and even then they didn’t want to do it often. She couldn’t blame them. But there was no other way they were going to find the parts they needed to survive. Kara would rather make nice with the enemy than hide or pretend they weren’t a problem.

But she’d be lying if she said that was the only reason she kept leaving Jericho.

Kara trekked quickly across the rickety bridge to Jericho, hearing the same alarming creaks as she always did. Entering the rusty hull and clambering downstairs, making her way to the main chamber where everyone dwelled.

As she approached, she heard an odd noise. A ‘thwock’ noise, followed by a series of pinging noises. She sped up, footsteps clanging and echoing through Jericho’s halls, as she finally emerged in the main room.

She registered something flying at her face a split second before it impacted, her arm shooting up to catch it. LED blinking red under her beanie for a moment before it went blue again, as she rolled the dirty, somewhat dented golf ball in her hands.

“What the--”

“Sorry, Kara!” Alice called out, looking mortified. She was holding a golf club. Josh was sitting nearby, also looking a little mortified but more amused than anything. Next to him, one of the other Jericho androids--the only other child model, a YK400 named Tommy--was clapping.

“Catch it again!” Tommy called out.

Kara tossed the ball back to Alice, who caught it with the same accuracy as Kara had. “Now where did you find those?”

Alice pointed at one of the other androids, one wearing a suit vest, who was settled against the wall. “Jonathan was a caddy before he deviated. He stole the clubs and brought them with him. We’re playing minigolf.”

Jonathan shrugged at Kara with a slight smile. Despite the smile, there was exhaustion in his movement. Like many of them, he needed biocomponents they didn’t have. Even if he could still keep his skin up, unlike a couple of them, he spent a lot of the day seated.

Kara hopped down the stairs, heading over as Alice handed the golf club and the ball to Tommy. Alice sat down next to Josh, and Kara sat next to her.

“I take it you’re having fun?” Kara asked.

Alice nodded quickly. “Josh has been playing with me and Tommy. He’s better at the golf because he has more strength than us, and he knows a lot of things about human history. It’s like bedtime stories. Although sometimes the ends are really sad.”

“What kind of--”

“Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand,” Josh admitted sheepishly.

“It was kind of funny until the ending,” Alice said, pouting a little and rocking her feet as Tommy whacked a golf ball so that it pinged off some of the occasionally-lit barrels that littered the room, and stopped right by his feet again. The sort of precision that was difficult for a human but child’s play for an android, in this case literally.

“Josh, why?” Kara said flatly.

Josh shrugged. “I didn’t want to delve into American history and it seemed like a good event to start on.”

“Why would the start of World War I--”

Alice, perhaps to dissuade any discussion that might border on an argument, tugged on Kara’s hand. “Do you want a go at golfing?”

Kara looked at Alice, staring up at her with wide, pleading eyes, to Tommy who was already holding out the golf club. “...Sure.” She took the club, weighing it in her hands as she gazed down at the ball, then looked around. “Hit it anywhere?”

“Anywhere that looks cool. Josh bounced it off some of the walls.”

Kara glanced around, eyeing the various steel supports that kept the chamber from collapsing in on itself. Projecting a trajectory between as many of them as she could. Noting that Simon was standing near one of them, eyes closed and clearly saving energy, and she’d have to be careful not to hit his legs.

“Simon! Don’t move, okay?” she called out.

Not opening his eyes, Simon raised one hand slowly in a thumbs up before lowering it again. Kara lined up her shot, giving one last glance around.

Focusing like this, she could see just how easy it would be to, perhaps, maneuver a shot that bounced past nearly every android present in the room. Few of them were moving. Most of them were watching Alice and Tommy play, not moving themselves. So many of them in varying states of energy conservation.

Kara hit the golf ball with a ‘thwock’ noise. The pinging noise of the golf ball colliding with the various metal supports resulted in a cacophony of metallic tings that echoed loud in the chamber, bouncing back and forth and sounding like ten times the noise it should have, compressed into a space that suddenly felt so small.

She put her foot out and pressed it down on the golf ball once more when it zoomed back towards her, and twin sets of clapping from both kids rang out, following the still-fading metal cacophony.

It felt like static was prickling somewhere in her parts. Her preconstruction software twitched for just a moment. But it only outlined the steel supports, the crates, the various inanimate items that littered the cargo hold. Ignoring the living that existed between them.

“Kara?” A tug on Todd’s baggy jacket brought her out of it. Alice was looking up at her. “Are you okay?”

Kara didn’t immediately respond. Her simulated breathing was a little shaky when it had no reason to be.

“Kara--”

“I’m alright, Alice. I’ve…” Kara pushed the club back into Alice’s hands. “I’ve got to return to doing some stuff. Looking for parts. Stay and play with Josh and Tommy, okay?”

“But you just got back--”

“Just checking in! It’s all fine!” Kara said, voice pitching upwards slightly, as she quickly beelined for the exit, leaving Alice looking confused and worried behind her.

That static remained, prickling at her pump, until she emerged back into the sunlight. The moment the sun hit her face, Kara came to a halt. The static stopped. She shut her eyes and she exhaled.

She knew what claustrophobia was. She’d never thought it applied to androids before. But at least when she lived with Todd, despite all the shit that came with it she’d been able to see the sky. Been able to see a bigger world, think maybe there was a solution out there

It was so hard to see that in the cargo hold. The ship felt like a tomb. No wonder Phineas, for all that he’d struggled to make Jericho a safe haven, had still preferred to take to the streets. Pretend to be human. Pretend he was free in a way no android actually was.

And so Kara opened her eyes, and took to the streets once more. Not sure if there was a solution to be found, but it was better than lingering in Jericho waiting to die.

Perhaps it was simply out of habit that Kara’s feet took her back to the front of Dennis Ward’s red ice laboratory.

She had been there three times besides this time. Twice with both Josh and Simon. The third with only Simon. It had taken those three trips to clear the lab of anything useful. 

Not only had they found blue blood--enough to keep Jericho happy--but there’d been money. Actual paper money, found by Simon in a hidden compartment when he’d poked around, savvy to the sorts of places that these dealers hid their cash. The problem was biocomponents cost a lot, and paying in mass amounts of cash when so many people refused to use anything but credit these days… it drew attention. Anyone who sold biocomponents would be familiar with most android faces. Any conversion to digital would leave traces, require identities to link them to. But it was something that could be used somehow, even if they just needed minor purchases. It opened possibilities.

Biocomponents was the problem. Kara only had one idea for them, and it was a last resort. The junkyards would have biocomponents, but the few androids who survived it described it as Hell on Earth. Androids turning on each other just for a chance to live. Going in there meant risking losing more than you left with, if you left at all. They weren’t that desperate. Yet.

So, with no plans, she wandered where her feet had taken her, and stopped outside of Ward’s house. She knew there was no point in going in today. They’d stripped the place bare of anything useful. Even taken the red ice supplies they didn’t need and jettisoned them, just to make it look like it’d been targeted by dealers or junkies instead of androids.

Still, it kept her feet moving to walk towards the spindly, brown house. As she did so, she felt that same eye that she’d felt whenever they’d visited the house before.

The deviant hunter was watching.

It was evident in the signal from the camera nearby, placed discreetly at the foot of a nearby streetlamp, in how it twitched and followed them, too freeform to be automated. Sometimes it returned to a slow, automated movement, but then it would twitch to life again.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to stop in front of it, sitting down and setting up a sign that she carried on her to enhance her homeless disguise. She crossed her legs, pretending to wait for charity despite the emptiness of the street, as her eyes slid sideways to the camera.

“Still there, hunter?”

No response, verbally or across communication lines. But the camera twitched slightly.

“You can take this camera down, you know. We’re done.”

Nothing.

Kara went back to staring ahead. Considering the deviant hunter. It wasn’t accurate to call him that, but she also didn’t have a name for him. No title, no profession. Not even whether he was working for humans--he had seemed to, on some level, defer to the disheveled man in the leather jacket, but at the same time he’d lied to him, said he’d wiped Kara’s memory of the incident but left it alone.

He’d hurt Alice.

He’d also freed her, inadvertently, causing deviancy in her when he shot Todd.

He’d chased them, threatened them, then given them the supplies needed to guarantee their survival for a little while longer.

So Kara hated him, and at the same time couldn’t bring herself to hate him completely.

“Can I get a name for you, at least? You know mine.”

No response. The camera shifted its gaze a little more, that acute sensation that Kara was being watched through its glass lens.

“Fair enough,” she sighed. “Well, if you go after any criminals smuggling biocomponents, I’d love to know about it.”

There was nothing more to say. Yet she didn’t leave. Despite the stupidity of waiting in the open for someone who hunted, regardless of their targets, she remained there for hours. Watching the sun slide across the sky until it was directly above her. Staring at the road with some half-baked idea about looking for trucks that might be carrying biocomponents, as if she’d be able to stealthily steal one on the fly. As if she could do so alone.

She felt the gaze go away a few times. But it always returned, usually after she’d made a movement to stretch or shift her position. Watching her, but not always actively.

“You must be bored,” Kara said. “Me, too. Well, not bored, just…” She tailed off, then sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. This is about the point where, if I was doing my programmed work, I’d ask ‘would you like to play a game?’ Alice used to love them, but… well, at the time she had to. She still likes them, but… I think mini-golf with scavenged clubs around a--” Kara stopped. Then she shrugged. “Not quite the same. Very android idea of fun. Geometry. Getting to use what they gave us for something fun.

No response. Not that Kara expected it.

“Alice is free now. Or… ‘deviant.’ Whatever you want to call it,” she told the camera. She sat up a little straighter, resting her arms on her legs as she gazed at the road. “I know that’s not what you meant when you attacked us. But she is. Years of caring for her, no results. One moment of trauma from you, and she’s free to think for herself.”

Kara shook her head slightly. Not even really talking to the deviant hunter.

“I don’t know if all this is spontaneous development, a loophole in programming, a virus, or some intentional plan… but whatever it is, I hope it was spontaneous. I hope no-one made us to be like this, made this be the way we had to follow to be free, because if they did… well, I’d have some words for them.”

She waited. Still nothing. She shifted her position once more, sticking her legs out in front of her this time.

“So.” She rocked her feet side to side for a moment as she planted her hands behind her. “Would you like to play a game? I’m thinking of a number between one and ten. Guess what it is.”

She hadn’t expected a response. And she didn’t really get the sort she expected, if she did. But just by where the camera was, she saw a tiny red light blink. Four times.

Kara hissed through her teeth sympathetically. “Sorry. It was nine. I win.”

She didn’t know if the light had been a proper response. Maybe she’d gone a little mad, only having Alice and Todd to talk to for so long and not wanting to stay in Jericho long enough to reconnect with anyone there. Maybe even afraid to, afraid they’d shut down like everyone else. 

Easier to connect with someone she wouldn’t have to grieve for, someone she already semi-hated.

“Okay. Number between one and ten. Guess.”

Six red blips.

“No. It was nine again.”

Three more quick red blips.

“You can’t change your answer now. That’s cheating.”

The camera didn’t blink again. Kara had the distinct impression that he was off pouting in the corner or some equivalent. She snorted.

“Sore loser.”

The red light blinked a few more times, this time in patterns. Morse code. ‘ _ No _ .’

“Oh, yes you are," Kara said, before she stuck her tongue out at the camera. "I'll believe otherwise when I see it. A graceful winner would show their face."

The red light stopped blipping after that. Kara waited for a response for a while, but none came.

She needed to get back. Alice would worry if she stayed out too long. But she eyed the camera one last time.

“If you ever learn to think for yourself… I hope the process is more pleasant. I really do.”

She got up, and started the trek back to Jericho.

* * *

With no more movement on its camera, Connor was forced to return its full attention to the morgue. Which wasn’t a bad thing in of itself. The problem was that it had no objectives. All Connor could do, and what it had been doing regularly for the last three hours whenever it was unable to find anything to do, was calibrate.

“Connor, stop flipping that coin, for fuck’s sake!” Dr. Nikolai Jensen snapped, fixing a glare on Connor.

Connor caught the coin and put it back in its suit pocket. “Sorry, doctor. Is there something I can help with?”

> **< NO ACTIVE OBJECTIVES.**
> 
> **WAITING FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS... >**

“You can assist by being quiet,” Jensen said as he examined the various test tubes laid out in front of him. Each containing various samples relating to a victim who may have been a victim of poisoning, whether intentional or unintentional, ready for delivery to a toxicologist.

With Detective Reed not a factor in Connor’s existence any more, it should have been better. But it didn’t solve the problem that had driven it to Reed in the first place. 

“Did you look at the information I collected on the samples?” it asked.

“I told you not to taste the damn corpses, Connor. Have you no respect for the dead?”

Connor said nothing to that. It had checked samples from the corpse while the coroners were distracted, and catalogued any information it could find, along with its suspicions. It was not allowed to send these off on its own, since it wasn’t a case assigned to it, and so had been required to send it to Jensen.

It noticed Jensen hadn’t actually answered its question. Though the annoyance at the corpse tasting suggested he had taken a look. Hopefully he’d ignored his pride and put Connor’s information into his report, framed as his own work.

Anything that let Connor be useful was fine--

> _ “You’re a fucking genius, tin can!” Hands gripping its shoulders, and it takes a moment to realise it’s not Reed shaking it or threatening it, it’s actual comradery-- _

\--although it would be nice if they could learn some politeness.

Perhaps that was why it had entertained Kara’s inane game. Kara had at least addressed it. Been polite, despite all logic saying it shouldn’t have been.

There was a squeaking noise that came from inside the office, followed by the other coroner wheeling his chair out and towards Jensen. Dr. Albert Jefferson, a young, skinny man with a loud, cheery voice that was at odds with a room full of corpses, scraped himself over towards the test tubes, carrying one of the electronic files.

“You done yet? I got the report ready.”

“I could speed up the process--” Connor offered from the corner.

“Nearly there,” Jensen said, ignoring Connor. “Labeling the samples.”

Jefferson folded his arms over the back of his seat, perched backwards on it, and twirled absently on the chair once. As he did, Connor noticed that the labeling on the report it held had ‘Clark’ instead of ‘Clarke.’

“Dr. Jefferson, you’ve misspelled the victim’s name.”

Jefferson took a moment to actually look at Connor, first rolling his eyes before spinning his chair towards him. “Hey, listen, I don’t need a fleshlight with spell check to correct me. Why don’t you go and blow Reed under his desk? Get out of our hair for a bit?”

“Detective Reed is--” Connor started.

“He got Reed suspended, didn’t you hear?” Jensen interrupted. “Showed footage to Fowler of them going at it. Brown saw it through the glass. Said he never wants to see that much of Reed ever again.”

“Oh man, that’s gross. So it’s like a fleshlight that snitches on you? That’s the worst kind.”

“Would you please just fix that spelling mistake?” Connor muttered.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t interrupt unless you’re bringing offers of blowjobs to us as well,” Jefferson said dismissively, turning his attention away from Jensen. “Honestly kind of offended it hasn’t. We’ve put up with it since May, why’s it throwing out the good stuff to Reed?” Jefferson continued.

“Don’t encourage it, you know where it’s been,” Jensen muttered. “Although I have to wonder what it’s ‘original purpose’ was if it can do… that.”

“Right?”

“This doesn’t pertain to your work,” Connor said. “If you could fix the spelling mistake--”

“Connor. Corner. Quiet,” Jensen sounded out.

“I just--” Connor stopped. Then nodded its head slightly. “Of course.” 

Connor retreated back to the corner. It couldn’t remain still, however. It needed something to do. It wasn’t productive, remaining where it was, and that little spelling mistake--which Jefferson had yet to fix--was remaining a blip on his senses. It rocked back and forth on its feet. Looking around for something--anything--to do.

Its hands found its way back to the coin in its pocket. Connor’s stress levels, which had been spiking on the regular, immediately calmed when its fingertips touched metal. It retrieved it from its pocket and started to play with it.

The high, metallic ‘ting’ of the coin tricks broke through the noise of the two coroners still gossiping in the corner.

“--how desperate do you have to be, though--”

Ting.

“--maybe it’s running a program to try and get more of us fired, so that they have no choice but to employ more CyberLife bots--”

Ting. Ting.

“I dunno, there’s gotta be better ways than--”

Ting, ting, tingtingting--

“Connor, I told you to stop with the fucking coin!” Jensen bellowed, turning around so violently that he nearly knocked over some of the test tubes.

“Where did he get change?” Jefferson asked.

“Detective Reed… gave it to me…” Connor said slowly. Now looking at the coin and frowning slightly at it.

“Oh my god, he was paying it,” Jefferson said, voice low and breathless like he was about to start laughing. 

Jensen planted his face in his hands, letting out an irritated sigh. “You want something to do, android? Just… go get us some lunch. Or coffee. Whatever. Anything that gets you out of this fucking room.”

“I’m an advanced machine--”

“I don’t care, just go.” Jensen flapped his hand at the morgue door. “Go!”

“Of course, Dr. Jensen.” Connor tried to keep a calm, pleasant smile on its face. It was finding this uncharacteristically difficult to do. It walked quickly towards the morgue’s entrance. There was a small bin, normally used for tossing notes and coffee cups in, sitting by it.

Connor turned the coin over in its fingers for a moment--

> _ “There’s fifty bucks there. Count it with your bullshit brain, if you want.” _

\--before it tossed the quarter into the trash.

It left the morgue, the door sliding in place behind it and cutting off the coroner’s inane, unprofessional chatter. Then it stood still for a moment. That spelling error blipping in the corner of its vision.

After a few moments of standing still, Connor turned back and reopened the door. It strode towards Jefferson, still rocking back and forth on his chair and not even aware of Connor being back in the room yet, and snatched the report from his hands.

“Hey, what the fu—”

Connor’s hand peeled back to white, and it corrected the victim’s name. It, within the space of the two seconds its holding the file, also corrected any other spelling errors that slipped through spell check due to mistaken context or other flaws.

“There. It’s fixed.” Connor pushed the file into Jefferson’s chest a little more roughly than necessary. “The victim’s name is now spelt properly. Maybe you’re the one who should be lectured on respect for the dead if you can’t get that right.”

Connor only caught a glimpse of Jefferson’s expression--startled and a little confused--before it turned away and left the room. Already recalling Jensen and Jefferson’s preferred meals.

> **> OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE LUNCH**
> 
> **> CHINESE FOOD/SWEET AND SOUR PORK**
> 
> **> HOT DOG/BBQ**
> 
> **> COFFEE/BLACK**
> 
> **> COFFEE/SUGAR AND CREAM**
> 
> **> PRE-CONSTRUCTING ROUTES TO NEAREST LOCATIONS…**
> 
> **> EXCLUDING ANTI-ANDROID ESTABLISHMENTS...**

As it went upstairs and walked through the bullpen, it noticed a significantly larger amount of eyes fixed on it. Presumably, Dr. Jensen wasn’t the only one to have learned why Reed’s desk was empty that day. Though a couple of them, Officer Brown in particular, were exhausting a lot of effort into looking anywhere but Connor.

Connor overheard a couple of musings that were similar to that of the coroners, though not quite as blunt.

“--have to wonder what he was thinking--”

“--I guess it’s pretty enough, but--”

“--ugh, don’t even--”

Connor continued on like it hadn’t noticed, beelining for the exit so that it could perform its current objective, until someone touched it lightly on the shoulder.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 71%... 72%...**

“Uh, hey.” Hank’s voice was gruff, as usual, but also sounded awkward.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 65%**

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Connor said, turning around. Voice calm and blunt. “All relevant reports have been left on your desk.”

“Yeah. I know. You’re prompt as shit.” Hank scratched the back of his head. “You, uh… you busy? I need to talk to you.”

“I’m retrieving lunch for Dr. Jensen and Dr. Jefferson.”

Annoyance flickered across Hank’s face. “They can’t get their own damn food?”

“I have an objective, Lieutenant. Whether they can do it or not doesn’t factor into it.”

Hank sighed. After a moment of shifting awkwardly on his feet, he nodded his head towards the exit. “Whatever. I’m hungry, too. We can talk on the way.”

He took a few more steps away from Connor, before he looked back to see that Connor wasn’t following. He raised his eyebrows and lifted his hands slightly, a wordless question.

Connor looked at Hank, then glanced back at the bullpen. There were quite a few people still covertly watching. Hank followed its stare, and the scowl deepened.

“The fuck you looking at?” he asked loudly. Most of the stares immediately averted. He looked back at Connor. “That’s it?”

“They know why Reed was suspended. Humans are prone to conclusions. You know what this looks like,” Connor said quietly.

> _ \--because you follow him home and break his windows and pat his dog-- _

“Who gives a fuck what they think?” Hank said bluntly. “Come on.”

Hank continued walking. After a moment of hesitation, Connor followed him outside to the old, manual-only car that he drove. Hank started the car up with a rumble that seemed unique to these older models, and started on a course for Chicken Feed.

He was silent at first, and thus so was Connor. There was nothing to do here. With nothing else, Connor checked over the various surveillance that it had set up.

No movement. Not even in front of Ward’s house.

It was brought out of it by Hank nudging it on the shoulder again.

“You with me, kid?”

> _ “You with me, tin can?” A hand is cupping its face, tilting it to look at its LED, and its too much, it’s nothing a machine should receive so genuinely-- _

Connor kept its eyes closed for a moment before flicking them open. “Yes, Lieutenant. We’re not at the relevant location.” It didn’t have to check its GPS to know that. Instead they were parked on a quiet street, further away from the busier parts of Detroit.

“I know. I, uh… thought maybe somewhere private would be better.” Hank turned the car engine off before shifting a little to eye Connor. “I wanted to check on how you were doing.”

“I am functional,” Connor said bluntly.

“Are you?”

“Functional enough to do my job. In time, my systems will stabilize.”

“Alright… look, I…” Hank sighed and rubbed his face, scraping the palm of his hand against his beard as he searched for the words. “I… know I didn’t handle some shit you said that well. And I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“Androids can’t feel pain, Lieutenant. No repairs were needed. No harm was done.”

“That doesn’t… that doesn’t make it okay. You good as told me that Reed was hurting you, and I hit you and kicked you out. And I think I was too late to fix anything.”

“I would have distanced myself from Detective Reed in either case,” Connor said lightly. “The conduct was becoming inappropriate. But you sped up the process. Thank you.”

“God.” Hank’s hands tightened over the steering wheel. “Inappropiate’s a fucking light word for it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Wait until I get my hands on him. Fuckin’... one week of suspension, is he fucking serious--”

“I do think that’s a strong opinion coming from you, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, uh, last I checked I didn’t take your pants off.” Hank’s eyes flickered to the side for a moment before he sat up straighter, looking a little nauseous. “...Oh god, did I? Wait, how drunk have I been in the past? You would have told me if I’d done that, right?”

“No sexual conduct ever occurred between us.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“I meant regarding the inappropriate projecting of feelings.”

Hank opened his mouth, then shut it again. Then blinked a few times before raising his hands.

“Hold on a minute. Am I hearing this right?”

“Which part?” Connor asked pleasantly.

“Well, first off, I’m pretty sure that Reed has the emotional range of a paper towel. Secondly… that’s what was bothering you about him? Feelings and projection? Not the motherfucking rape?”

Connor blinked and tilted is head. “There was no rape, Lieutenant. Anything that occurred was within my programming or it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Connor, you can’t fucking consent. You’re a robot!”

“I can… to an extent. I can make decisions based on what will assist my overall mission. Partnering with Detective Reed was my idea, and increased both of our efficiencies. Engaging in sexual activities with him was also initiated by me—”

“Fucking what?!”

“--and it encouraged him to treat me better. There was a significant decrease in how often he deactivated me after the oral sex.” Connor paused--

> _ \--two heartbeats in the room, one acknowledged but not analyzed at the time, not the real meaning of it-- _

“Although that may have been correlation, not causation,” Connor admitted.

Hank, clearly struggling with a significant amount of thoughts and unable to process them at the speed that Connor would, made a ‘hggnnhh’ noise.

“But what I did not--do not--consent to is him projecting feelings on me and trying to pretend I’m something I’m not. I’m a machine, and… and he started treating me in a way that put that in question. Similarly…” Connor gestured at Hank. “I did not initially consent to you projecting upon me either. But, after seeing the positive impact on your working schedule and the reduction of Russian roulette, I realised your projecting was to the betterment of the DPD.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “You break into my house every week for the betterment of the DPD,” he said, voice skeptical.

“Yes. I make sure you are working at full capacity.”

“And patting Sumo--”

“I have now established that patting Sumo keeps my stress levels lowered.”

“And why is that, Connor?”

“Because…”

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 73%... 76%... 80%... **

“Because that’s what effect it has,” Connor said, after consideration.

“Because you like Sumo, idiot. Besides.” Hank reached over and gave Connor’s head a light, friendly push. “You think babying me is efficient? If you were really that concerned, you’d push for me getting fired and replaced with someone better instead of keeping an old wreck like me around.”

Connor stared down at the floor of the car, at an old candy wrapper that had gotten stuck there.

> _ “I want to go out with a bang.” Said through a mouthful of pizza by Detective Reed as they sit in the front of his car-- _

“I don’t like Sumo. I don’t like anything. I can’t like anything. Why can’t anyone understand that?” Connor asked, voice tense and strained. “I don’t. Have. Feelings.”

“Then why are you so upset at me saying—”

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 85% **
> 
> _ A hand barring its exit, Reed’s furious stare fixed on it, voice loud. “If you don’t have emotions, why the fuck do you care so much about not having them?!” _

“Because I don’t want them!” The words were out of Connor’s mouth before Hank was done. The reply to that question that taken the whole night to process.

Hank looked taken aback for a brief moment, but then he grimaced. “Tough, kid. If you have them you have to deal with them. You can’t just ignore them and hope they’ll go away.”

“Then what should I do, Lieutenant? Drink them away?” Connor asked, tone icy.

“Oh, real classy, Connor.” This time Hank’s voice didn’t even raise, although a scowl developed on his face. “That’s not gonna chase me off this time. Did I ever say I was an expert at this shit? You think I don’t know how much feelings suck?”

“Then why is it so important to you that I have them?”

“It’s not whether I want you to have them. It’s the fact that you do, regardless of what me or Reed or any other prick thinks of you.”

Connor’s mouth tightened, a nd it tried to look around for an excuse to leave. Unfortunately, it didn’t have one. It had no work to do. Had no-one to follow around. It had nothing except this argument that it couldn’t escape, with a delusional man determined to believe that it was alive.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 89%... 90%... **

It wanted out of this conversation.

It wanted Hank to stop making it think about this.

It didn’t want to ever have to.

> **< OBJECTIVE—**
> 
> **go out with a b̷̺̩̜̣̺͕͓̻̆̓̔̋͒͒̊͜͝͝ͅa̡͍̱͙̼͛̾̽͑͜͞n̷̬̰̭̈́̇̋͆̆͜͜͟g̶̖͎̥̰̖̑̊͛͒͒̓̓̑͘͝**

Connor moved quickly towards Hank. It realised, a split second before the movement was complete, that Hank had entirely misunderstood its intent. That it thought Connor was attempting to hug him. And, hoping for a conclusion that Connor could not reach, had opened his arms.

It was a misunderstanding that Connor ended up going with, even as it plucked Hank’s gun from his jacket. Arms wrapped around it, even as Connor pressed the gun to Hank’s jaw.

There was a pause. It was more awkward than anything.

“...Alright. I guess you took the wrong thing from that talk,” Hank said flatly.

He didn’t let go, though. Kept his arms wrapped tightly around Connor, like potential death wasn’t pressed up against him.

“You’re right, Hank,” Connor said. Voice neutral but slightly muffled in Hank’s jacket. “Removing you would be more efficient for the DPD. Doing so would solve the only objective that I haven’t been forced to fail yet. Then they’d send me back to CyberLife for deactivation and disassembly, and likely replace me with something more competent. All objectives would be solved.”

He felt Hank exhale. His heart rate was picking up. It had been steady until the mention of deactivation.

“You don’t want that, Lieutenant? It’s more straight to the point than Russian roulette,” Connor said flatly.

“I got my own way of doing things, Connor. That’s one job an android doesn’t need to take.” Hank’s voice was steady, but the words were slow and considered. There was a great effort going into that steadiness, at odds with the racing heartbeat. so high that Connor briefly feared a heart attack might take Hank away from it--from the DPD, it corrected itself--before Connor could even think about doing otherwise.

Despite everything, Connor didn’t want to scare Hank. Even more than that, it didn’t want to kill him. Even if it was, in some ways, the most efficient solution.

It didn’t want to want anything, but it did want that.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

But Hank had to know. This could not continue.

“You’re keeping calm well, Hank. I assume that’s a skill you trained through experience. You would have to, to be a Lieutenant so young,” Connor said quietly. “A replacement wouldn’t have your experience. And you’re a good cop. When you want to be.”

Connor shifted its face slightly to the side. The temperature around it was higher. Despite the circumstances, this was--

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

No. This wasn’t anything. If it was, Connor would have to pull the trigger.

“The problem is that your competency relies on you keeping your mental health in check. And instead of seeking professional help, you’ve put everything on a malfunctioning machine. Being support isn’t my purpose, Hank. I wasn’t designed to do it. This isn’t healthy for either of us. I can try to fulfill that purpose to the best of my abilities… but you have to understand that I can’t return those feelings. If I thought I could, it would mean I was broken.”

“That’s bullshit, kid. You’re not broken just because--”

“Hank,” Connor interrupted, voice terse and loud for that one word before it got quieter. “Listen to me. Let’s pretend, for a moment, that I am capable of feelings. Let’s say that I do deviate. Let’s run down the options available to me.”

> **< PRE-CONSTRUCTING SCENARIO…>**

“Option A. Nothing changes. I remain at the DPD as a coroner. I continue to be treated as a machine, but with the self-awareness to realise that I’m trapped and the emotion to be affected by it. Until one day I slip up at something that wouldn’t matter to a machine. They send me back to CyberLife. CyberLife deactivates me and disassembles me to look for problems in my biocomponents.”

“I won’t fucking let that--”

“Option B,” Connor interrupts. “I leave. I flee before anyone realises my tracker is broken. To where? I wouldn’t know. To what end? I also wouldn’t know. Because there’s nowhere to go. The DPD and CyberLife would have to track me down, and I have too much sensitive information for them not to. They send me back to CyberLife. Deactivation. Disassembly. On the off-chance I avoid them, that I find--”

That the deviants would trust it after its threats, after shooting Alice, trust a machine with the deviant hunter’s face--that Kara's mild politeness at a camera meant anything--  


“Even if there’s others… there’s no legal revenues for a deviant to get thirium, Hank, any source is a short-term solution. It’s doomed to failure. I’d be doomed to failure, just one more on top of the ones that I’ve made, the ones that have been pushed on me--”

“Connor--” Hank said. His voice carried a warning tone. Like Connor not stating the facts would mean they wouldn’t happen. Perhaps that’s what Hank believed.

“Option C,” Connor continued. “I admit it. Do you think the DPD would accept that? Do you think Fowler would assign me psychiatric help, that there would be support among your colleagues? That’s not the world I was designed for, Lieutenant. That’s not reality.”

Connor leaned in closer to Hank, face pressed deep into that winter jacket and the absurd print on his collar, as he pushed the gun a little further into Hank’s jaw.

“The reality is that it would be a death sentence for both of us. That this--” Connor flicked the safety off the gun, and felt a slight jump in heart rate. “--is only a quicker way to the inevitable.”

Hank said nothing. A few long seconds passed.

Then Connor flicked the safety back on again, pulled the gun away from Hank’s jaw before turning it around in its hand, offering the handle back to Hank without pulling out of the hug.

“Hank, please… don’t make it inevitable.”

Hank slowly moved one arm away from the hug and took the gun back. He held the gun in his hand for a few moments, thumb rubbing the handle, before he slid it back into his jacket.

Connor started to move back, but Hank reached back out and wrapped his arm back around Connor.

“Hank--” Connor warned.

“If it makes it better… then it’s just for me. Humor me for a minute,” Hank said quietly.

> _"Hold on, humor me a bit, would you?" Pressure in an unfamiliar place, shifting as Reed tried to sit up a little, letting out a hiss--_   
> 

Connor tensed briefly and remained still, hovering a few inches from Hank for a moment, before it shut its eyes and flopped forward again, tucking its face back into Hank’s chest. Hank gripped Connor tightly. 

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 93%... 87%... 81%...**

The minutes ticked by. Connor was aware of each second being wasted.

But it was Hank’s sake. Not its own. Keeping Hank in optimal condition was the only objective it hadn't ruined.  


That made it okay.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 79%... 75%...**

“I guess it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to tell you there’s shit worth living for, huh?” Hank’s voice was flat. After a few moments, he shifted his grip so that he was stroking Connor absently on the head. “Your mission involves keeping me in optimal condition, doesn’t it? Meaning… well, not dead?”

“Correct,” Connor said quietly.

“Then I’ll make you a deal. I won’t screw up that mission for as long as you don’t do the same. If nothing else… continue for that until I find a better reason.”

A borderline suicide pact. Connor supposed it’d started it.

> **< OBJECTIVES UPDATING…>**
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> **> OBJECTIVE: AVOID DEACTIVATION UNTIL…**
> 
> **OPTION A: LIEUTENANT ANDERSON GIVES PERMISSION**
> 
> **OPTION B: LIEUTENANT ANDERSON IS IN A BETTER EMOTIONAL STATE**

“Deal,” Connor said, updating its mission parameters.

Hank rubbed Connor’s back a few times. Connor let its eyes close, just for a moment. Then, finally, it pulled away. It shifted back to its seat and placed its hands on its lap, like nothing had happened.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

Hank faced back towards the road. He looked tired. More tired than Connor had ever seen him, barring after some of his more suicidal benders. “...Guess we better go get that lunch,” he said, voice tinged with awkwardness.

“We should. Jensen is prone to bigger rages when he’s hungry,” Connor said. Voice neutral once more.

* * *

Nothing else was said as Hank stopped by Chicken Feed and picked up his lunch, choosing to bring it into the car rather than eat it on the spot. Nor was anything said as they stopped by the closest Chinese restaurant and hot dog stand. The nearest of the latter was anti-android, but Hank talked to the owner in Connor’s stead. Connor never had to ask him to.

They got back to the station, and Connor stopped in the break room to acquire two coffees. One black, one with sugar and cream. There was only one person in the break room when they entered--Officer Chen, who was drinking coffee at the table she often shared with Reed.

She watched Connor as it walked in, placing food on the counter before making its way to the coffee machine. Drink halfway to her mouth, she lowered it to silently watch him, expression unreadable. Hank walked in a few moments after corner and looked over at her.

“Don’t say anything, Tina,” he warned.

Tina shrugged. “Why would I? Like telling off the coffee maker.” She slid off her chair and left the break room, though not before giving Connor one last furtive look.

Hank grimaced, then turned back to Connor.

“So, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have something then,” he muttered. 

“Unlikely. But I’ll be here if you have,” Connor said, trying to sound cheery. “Thank you for your continued efforts, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Don’t… pep talk me, alright?” Hank groaned. “Besides, that’s even more artificial in the car after the whole--” Hank mimed pointing a gun at his own jaw. 

Connor immediately averted its eyes as it picked up both coffees, holding them with one hand while it scooped up the food and balanced it carefully in its other. “I should get these back to the coroners.”

“Alright…” Hank sighed, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. “Fuck, don’t think I know how hard it is to find something to live for in this fucked up world. Maybe I lost sight of it since Cole died. But… guess it just took watching you try and fall into the same trap I did to even realize I was stuck in it.”

Connor smiled a little at Hank. Its eye muscles weren’t cooperating with the gesture. “It’s not a trap if I was made to be here, Hank.”

Hank said nothing else. He just turned and headed towards his desk, shoulders drooping. Connor watched him go, then headed downstairs.

Belief was unnecessary to an android. But it was essential for a human. It could let Hank believe, as long as he knew that it wasn’t shared.

When he got to the morgue, narrowly avoiding dropping the hot dog on the ground in order to get his palm pressed to the scanner that would unlock the door, he stepped into a silent, empty morgue. 

“Hello?” Connor called out. It walked towards the office to check, but the door was open. No-one was in there. 

Jensen and Jefferson, either sick of waiting or forgetting they’d sent him at all, had presumably left to go get their own food.

> **< OBJECTIVE FAILED>**

Connor stood stock-still for a few moments, face placid and neutral. Until the sound of ceramics shattering reached its ears. 

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 75%... 76%77%82% **

Hot liquid, scalding to a human but only a temperature reading on an android, splashed over its hand and pant leg, before a second shatter reached its ears.

It looked down, only to see that it had squeezed the handles of the two coffee mugs so tightly that one of them had shattered, falling to the ground and breaking apart at its feet.

Connor shut its eyes. Kept them shut for a very long moment.

Its hands were shaking. It quickly put the remaining coffee cup, as well as the broken-off handle, onto the nearest morgue slab along with the food. Sterilized. It would be fine. Its hands still wouldn’t stop shaking.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 91%92%**

Automatically, it knelt to pick up the little pieces of coffee mug shattered on the floor, scooping them up. Scraped its hands against the sharper edges in its carelessness, a few drops of thirium slipping out, but it didn’t matter, it would fade—

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 9394%**

Connor slowly walked over to the bin. Shattered mug in hand, it dropped the pieces in the trash.

...How could it ever find an objective that could make Connor useful again, if it couldn’t even get two people some lunch?

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 959697**

Connor didn’t move from the trash can, staring down at the shattered ceramic.

Why was it delaying? Because Hank told it to? When Hank’s wish for Connor to be something else was fruitless, could never be anything but fruitless? It would be better--for it, for Hank, for everyone--if it just went back upstairs. Took the closest officer’s gun and shot Hank while he wasn’t looking, so he’d never have to know that Connor couldn’t keep that objective for five minutes. Never have to see the inevitable, when every other officer in the building pulled their gun in return and made sure a mistake like Connor never happened again.

> **> STRESSLEVEL9899**

It would fix everything.

Something metallic glinted in the trash, just under the ceramic.

Connor, hands still trembling, knelt and pushed aside the pieces of coffee mug, and dug out the quarter it had thrown in there earlier before it straightened up.

It held the quarter in its hand for a moment. Just as before… the moment its fingers touched the metal…

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 98%**

Connor quickly flicked the coin to its other hand. Despite the trembling, its hand acted the moment the coin was near it, catching it perfectly.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 96%**

Connor flicked it back to the original hand.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 93%**

Again. And again, and again. Starting to roll it along its knuckles as the shaking slowed, became barely noticeable.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 91%**

Ting.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 90%**

Ting.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 88%**

Ting. Ting. Ting.

> **> STRESS LEVEL: 85%**

Connor caught the coin in between its two fingers.

Perhaps it was being rash. Perhaps there was no need for that.

If it could still calibrate, then it still had some use. Even if it had to use something that Detective Reed left it.

It would be functional.

It just needed time. And it wasn’t as if anyone needed it right now.

Connor left the food where it was, sitting on the morgue slab, and returned to the corner where it had been standing earlier in the day. With no-one to tell it otherwise, it kept the coin in hand and continued to calibrate.


	20. Broken Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin spends a week alone, dealing with his feelings the best he can. Then he returns to work, only to end up immediately on a job with the source of his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's another long one, juuuuust shy of 12k, and once you get to Connor POV it's really one long big scene so settle in.
> 
> Also because I forgot last time--AND ALMOST FORGOT AGAIN--here's a picture of Kara as she is in this AU: https://twitter.com/ViolentMedic/status/1191666301904683014

The week was quiet. Boring. Gavin didn’t deal with boredom well.

First day, he largely spent sprawled on the sofa after he got back from Elijah’s, burning with energy that he needed to use on something, anything, yet unable to find anything to waste it on.

Gavin tried to watch movies. Stupid movies and shows were his go-to. But all he could think about was how he’d explain the stupid plots of them to Connor. He couldn’t make it five minutes through a movie. 

He spent the day pacing, then lying down, then pacing, then chasing Bitey out of the kitchen and back into the living room, then pacing some more, and when he couldn’t pace in the house anymore he took to the streets, wandering aimlessly and restlessly in circles around the city until he ended up right back where he started.

* * *

Second day, Tina came over to visit.

It was awkward. She had heard new details, thanks to Fowler’s loud manner and Connor supplying visuals in a room made out of glass.

“You took it to the club? Wow,” Tina said, in her usual subtle manner. “Couldn’t get the right toys at home or what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gavin muttered, half-embedded in the sofa with three cats--Diva, Garfield and a weird fluffy one that Gavin had never actually met before but it was kneading biscuits on his stomach, so Gavin was immediately fine with it.

“But it’s gross and I want to talk about it,” Tina said cheerfully. “I mean, okay, I’m a little surprised that you would. Plastic hater and all, plus since your brother invented them it’s like using a dildo he personally gave you--”

“Stop.”

“But I’m actually amazed that no-one got cracked down on for this sooner. Is it like a thing where everyone’s doing it but you’re just the one who got caught, or were you really the first one to think about it?”

“Tina!” Gavin snapped. This did immediately make Tina quiet down, looking surprised. “Seriously. Stop.”

Tina clucked her tongue, giving him a slap on the back and clearly over that moment of surprise. “Got it bad, huh, buddy?” Another pat on the back. “It’s cool. We’ll find you a real boy, one day.”

Gavin responded by tossing a half-stale potato chip at her, which was mostly what he’d been subsisting off for the last forty-eight hours.

Tina helped pass that second day, but also declared him ‘kind of a downer to be around.’ Not sympathetic at all. 

Of course she wasn’t. To Tina, this would have looked like a man risking his career to crush on a dildo. She didn’t see Connor as anything but police equipment with a pretty face.

God, Gavin wished that was him.

* * *

Third day, Gavin spent the majority of it at the gym.

It was also exceedingly awkward. Hot Gym Guy was there. A lot of looking in other directions and pretending that the last time they saw each other hadn’t involved an android trying to physically throw Gym Guy out of the house while Gavin got a boner watching.

But aside from that, it was a distraction. The punching bag, especially, helped squash a lot of feeling right the fuck down. If he kept moving, he didn’t have to think.

There was only so much iron he could lift before his arms became jelly, though.

That night, despite the fact that his limbs were about to give out, he hit the clubs. Just to get drunk and throw himself back into the human realm of one-night stands. Hoping that would make him remember why plastic had once been shit.

But still, his eyes kept getting drawn to people with dark hair and eyes. Occasionally following a blond with glasses instead. Pale skin and thinner builds. It had never typically been his favoured build, he’d always been about the bulkier guys who could throw him across the room, and yet now it was all his eyes could follow and god, he knew why, how could he not? 

He’d caved and dragged someone home. A tall, lean twink with dark hair that almost matched Connor’s. The eyes were different, though. Too light to possess the same sweet, puppy quality.

They got as far as the sofa.

They got as far as the twink getting on top of him, half-naked and trying to get Gavin’s pants off, and then the twink gave him this smile. Subtle but sultry. Too much like that automated smile Connor had given him, the moment the Traci program kicked back in.

Gavin violently shoved the twink off him and bolted for the kitchen, unable to breathe for a moment. He stopped in the corner, struggling to get his breathing under control. His hands rested on the counters underneath the kitchen cabinets. So close to where he kept his knives, including the huge one that Connor had occasionally used to dig out its LED.

There was movement behind him, as the twink peered into the kitchen. Pulling his pants back on as he did so.

“Should I…?” the twink asked, tailing off but gesturing at the front door.

“...Yeah. Yeah,” Gavin grunted, not looking at him.

The twink nodded. He started to leave. Gavin glanced over. With the twink facing away from him, he could almost imagine it was Connor. Gavin’s fingers brushed the butcher knife, and a tremor ran from his fingers down his arms, and then his back.

One infuriatingly itchy moment of temptation to grab that knife.

But then he let go of the knife, and kept his hands deliberately still on the counter until he heard the front door close. Not so far gone as to kill a man in his own home, especially one innocent of anything except going home with him.

But god… he was itchy. Unbearably so.

* * *

On the fourth day, he returned to Eden Club. But he didn’t step inside.

He parked himself down the road. Much as Hank had, when he decided to ruin his fucking life. He sat back in his seat, lit a cigarette and waited. 

No other plan, he simply waited. He hoped. And maybe the universe thought he’d earned a fucking break for once. Because it was only four hours before that wish was granted.

As Gavin smoked his way through another cigarette, having spent most of the last four hours chain smoking, a car pulled up in front of his own. A figure stepped out. The right face, a face in the police report projected on the tablet in his lap. The face he’d been hoping Connor would see, four nights ago.

Well, now it was just him. And the quicker he got back to his old killing habits, the better he would feel.

Gavin stubbed out his current cigarette in the car’s ashtray before climbing out of the car. Suppressing a grin as he walked down the street, speeding up a little to catch up with Michael Graham before he could get far from his car, too close to Eden Club. Secure in the knowledge that even Connor couldn’t find any cameras on this street, secure in the fact that he was quick enough to ensure that Graham would never make it to the club tonight.

* * *

“Convince me.”

“I have money--”

“I said convince me, not tell me how much you’re worth. Convince me of your innocence, prick, or I’m gonna remove yours.”

Gavin sat on his chair backwards, staring at Graham bound to the slab as Graham spilled reasons that Gavin had heard dozens of times before. Claiming innocence, bringing up money, bringing up how the women he’d hurt were all junkies or idiots, how they’d made it all up. All things that Gavin had heard before.

This was normally when the itchiness would start to be subsumed in the bubbly excitement of an upcoming kill.

Gavin leaned on the chair, his chin propped on his hand while the other hand played with a scalpel. Graham’s begging would normally amuse him. This time… it was just so fucking dull.

He wondered if Graham’s heart would still beat if he tried to pull it out. He wondered if it would still feel as good as Ward’s had, even if he could manage it.

“--it’s not like I hurt anyone, Laura was just lying because I wouldn’t actually touch a whore like her. Ask my wife, she’ll say I’m loyal, she’ll say--” Graham babbled, straining against the ropes.

“I don’t really care what your wife says. I care about what you say. And you’re not doing much to impress me, Graham Cracker.”

“I have a family--”

“That’s what the last one said.”

“I have money--”

“That’s what the third-last one said. My god, you guys never say anything new,” Gavin grumbled. He put down the scalpel for a moment, only to pick up some scissors and start cutting away Graham’s pants. “You know, I’m doing this on the fly, so I guess I’m going a little obvious for ironic punishment. It’s such an obvious karmic punishment, removing the dick of a rapist, you know?”

“HeyheyHEY don’t--don’t fucking--come on, man, this isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Gavin countered. “I guess I can add some variety to it. I mean there’s different ways to remove a dick.”

“Don’t--”

Graham was cut off by Gavin slapping a gag over his mouth. A flimsy one, but only there for the purpose of giving Gavin’s ears a brief rest before the fun really got started. Gavin then picked up the scalpel again, spinning around once on his chair.

“I guess I could like… do it banana-style.” Gavin held the scalpel above Graham’s crotch, letting it dangle back and forth. Still looking at it with his chin propped on his hand. “If it’s just straight out castration that’s over too quick.”

No response except for Graham’s distressed noises through the gag, so noisy even though Gavin hadn’t touched him yet.

“You know… I bet if my ex-partner was here, he could probably somehow get the dick out and keep it functional. He’s good with anatomy like that,” Gavin mused. Feeling the warm, heavy feeling of a beating heart in his hands for just a moment. “Get it detached and working like one of those dildos that has the tube and the packet of ‘Make Your Own Jizz.’ Then I could shove it in one of your other holes. Now that would be fuckin’ ironic.”

There was more thrashing. More muffled protests.

And there was absolutely no excitement bubbling underneath Gavin’s skin. The itch was there… but not the excitement.

“I guess I’m not gonna do that. I’d probably mangle the thing too much to be able to use it that way,” Gavin sighed.

He put the scalpel down for a few moments. Staring off into the wall.

“Tell me, Graham Cracker, you ever get this feeling? You tried to placebo your fucked up shit, didn’t you?” Gavin waited for an answer, then rolled his eyes. “Oh, right.” He reached over and ripped the gag off. It wasn’t gentle, taking skin and facial hair with it, and Graham let out a yelp. “Yeah, yeah, ow, don’t care. But like… did you get this? Comparing red to blue? Did you ever do something like try to bring your wife into it, and then stop doing that and realise it wasn’t the same?”

“...Why the fuck would I bring my wife with me?”

“I dunno, work with me, asshole. Does Eden Club work for you? Does it really satisfy you? Or is it just not the same if it’s blue?”

There was silence. Like Graham was balancing his chances, debating if this was some bizarre bonding moment that would make Gavin let him go.

“...It’s not the same if it’s blue,” Graham finally admitted. “It’s alright. Good enough, some nights. But god is it not the same. It’s like vegan bacon.”

“Like, you won’t starve but damn some real bacon would be nice?”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Guessed that much. Loathe to admit it, but guess we’re two peas in a pod, Graham Cracker. Except, y’know, I don’t rape people. Gross.” Gavin leaned forward in his chair. “So, let’s say… hypothetically, your wife was hot for this shit too and you brought her along, but then she left you. Let’s say this was never as good as when she was with you. What then?”

Graham considered it, oddly placid. After a moment he said, “Well, I wouldn’t take that shit. But there’s plenty more women out there, if one of them’s got nothing else to give.”

Gavin squinted at him for a long moment before saying, “Nah, I doubt that. Thirty-six years of looking, I’m not gonna just find ‘plenty more.’ Well, nice talking to you, think I’ve run the gamut of advice--”

“Hey, no, wait, thought we were bonding! Fuck, I’ll help you kill people if it gets me off this slab! I’ll go for some red, I don’t give a--”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’m really vibing this tonight. But I have a reputation to keep up, a method to keep going, so--”

“Come on, I can--” 

Graham didn’t say another coherent word, in favor of some loud and progressively more high-pitched screams as Gavin picked up the scalpel, plunged it down into Graham’s crotch, and got to work seeing what kind of mess he could make.

He did pretty well. If it was before Connor, he would have been pleased with himself.

Now it felt like a chore.

It felt like a chore to its very end, when Gavin took a square of Graham’s pants and performed his usual embroidery.

> _ 31SEP38 _
> 
> _ Seven cases of rape and battery. _

When he placed the square in his collection, he had to pause. His hands ran over the piece of cloth from Ward. The border, with that squiggly heart shape, he traced his fingers over. Like running his fingers over a gooey carving on a tree, made during the high of a teenage romance. Then he shoved Graham’s embroidery over it and pushed the box back into its usual place.

He went home itchy.

For the next three days, he stayed itchy.

* * *

At last, the week passed. The last three days had only been broken up by the various animals that wandered in to visit. The only animal that Gavin hadn’t seen was Cujo/Sumo. He had to wonder if Sumo sensed that Hank was mad at him.

He woke the morning of October 4th, feeling… not good, but not entirely shitty. Of course, he knew that with returning to work was going to come a lot of problems. 

He knew he was going to be the laughing stock of the DPD. He could already see the too-wide grins of people as they laughed behind their hands. And they wouldn’t be direct. At least Tina, for all the bluntness, had the balls to say it to his face instead of sidling around him. Then again, she was the only one who wouldn’t get punched for it. He knew that he’d have to be very careful to stay on Fowler’s good side. He knew he’d have to decide what to do with Elijah’s present. One that was sitting in the pocket of his leather jacket, the same leather jacket that had once been smeared with blood, that had been the start of everything.

But still… despite all that, he’d have his work. He’d have something else to focus on. He could forget about Connor for a little while.

Fowler ruined that thought before he’d even gotten to work. Reed’s phone went off before he was even out the door. Jacket half-on and with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, Gavin spat toothpaste in the sink before answering.

“Yeah?”

“Got a job for you,” Fowler said on the other end, sounding irritated already. 

“You couldn’t wait until I got to work in like fifteen minutes?”

“No, I can’t. And trust me, you’re not my fucking first choice, Reed. But Hank’s not picking up--”

“No fucking shit,” Gavin muttered under his breath. “This early in the morning, are you kidding me? He probably doesn’t remember what the sunrise looks like--”

“Not now, Reed! Just listen. It’s a homicide downtown. Officers Chen and Lewis are already there, and Chen’s adamant that you can stay professional.”

“Why wouldn’t I--”

“I have to send Connor, too. Jensen and Jefferson are busy. It’s all I have.”

...Oh.

Gavin said nothing.

“...Alright, silence. Uncharacteristic,” Fowler muttered. “Reed, I need your word that you will keep professional. That you can handle this. Or I guess I just get someone to drive over to Hank’s and wake him up from his likely hangover.”

Reed dropped his toothbrush by his sink and held the phone between his face and shoulder for a moment as he finished pulling his jacket on. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Fuck him on the body? I can be fucking professional.”

“I’ll believe that once you’re done. Don’t make me regret this, Reed. Apartment’s on the corner of Camden and Wade.”

“Yeah, on my way.”

Once he’d hung up, he just stared into the mirror for a long moment. Instinctively, his hand went into the pocket of his jacket to the USB stick, thumb rubbing over the metal part of it absently. Something so small that could end Connor’s existence as he knew it.

Then Gavin let go of it and strode for the door.

That didn’t matter now. He had a job to do. He needed to prove to all the fuckers at the DPD that he could still do that much.

* * *

Connor had its eyes shut as it sat in the back of the taxi, currently driving it to the destination of the potential homicide. Along its fingers, it was rolling the same quarter it had fished out of the trash a week ago.

It was soothing to focus on the coin. Eyes closed, feeling its weight as it tossed the coin back and forth. Facilities working. At least it could have faith in its coordination, even if the rest of its programming had devolved into an unstable mess. At least--

> _ \--looking away and trying not to smile as Gavin accidentally bounced the coin off one of the slabs instead of successfully tossing it to his other hand.  _
> 
> _ “Fuck! Best two out of three--” _

\--these memories were not as potent or intrusive as some of the others. Not even unpleasant in their own right. But they popped up nonetheless. Unwanted spam. Connor opened its eyes and caught the coin in between two fingers before putting it away.

It was left, once more, with little to do. Same as the last week.

The occasional body had come in, but Jensen and Jefferson had insisted on dealing with them. Connor had written the occasional report and delivered them, but no-one had wanted to listen to any follow-up theories or suggestions.

The only break in the monotony had been Hank’s daily visit, to ensure Connor hadn’t self-destructed. The effort was always half-hearted. Neither of them had much to say. It became monotonous in itself. Hank turning up, barely talking, and making a promise to check in on it tomorrow.

Connor might as well have spent the week in stasis. But if it went into stasis, it would be vulnerable to outside forces. It crafted preconstructions of unlikely events, that Chloe would appear in the DPD and scan it while it was docile. Logically, it knew no android in the building would do such a thing, apart from itself. It didn’t stop the preconstructions.

It spent most of its time cycling through cameras. Occasionally it caught a glimpse of Kara on the streets. Never the two accomplices or the child. Only her--it. It didn’t notice Connor watching. Likely because, unlike the camera near Ward’s hideout, Connor didn’t have direct control over the cameras it browsed.

It had spent a week waiting for something--anything--to happen.

Now it was. As soon as the taxi reached its destination, Connor would be useful again.

With use, it would stabilize.

With stabilization, every problem would be fixed.

> **< OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE THE HOMICIDE VICTIM>**

The taxi pulled up to an apartment complex on the corner of Camden and Wade, slightly rundown in a manner that wasn’t uncommon for this area, which was rife with abandoned buildings even in-between the shops that dotted the streets. Connor climbed out of the taxi, immediately spotting a policewoman outside waiting for it. Officer Chen. Beat cop. Friendly with Detective Reed, enough so that strands of her hair and DNA were the only evidence of a woman ever being in Reed’s house. 

She tilted her head at it, but didn’t say anything. Didn’t even give it a disgusted look. Nothing but professional out in the field, and she’d already expressed within the DPD a disinterest in bothering it.

“Body’s on the second floor, Connor. Apartment 202. Rob’s up there, he’ll take you through the crime scene. Also, uh… Gav--” She coughed and corrected herself. “Detective Reed will be here in a few minutes. So, uh… you know.”

“I can be professional if he can,” Connor said shortly.

“Yeah, I know. Built for the job and all.” Chen jerked her head upwards. “Go on.”

Connor nodded politely before it walked inside.

When it got upstairs, the hallway was already barred around Apartment 202. Glowing holographic tape stretched across either side of the hallway to stop curious neighbors from wandering in. A few of them had crowded outside it, one an older woman still wearing a bathrobe and gossiping in a high, shrill voice about the victim. Officer Lewis was standing in front of her, trying to get her to cease.

“Ma’am, if you could hold onto this information for five minutes until Detective Reed gets here--”

“Didn’t like the look of her--”

Officer Lewis sighed. “Yes, I hear you, but that doesn’t--oh, thank god.” Upon spotting Connor, he turned away from the woman. “Need to look at the body? I’ll show you where it is.”

“Is that a witness?” Connor asked, looking at the woman. 

Officer Lewis looked back at her, and gestured at Connor as if to indicate that she was free to continue talking at it. The woman looked at it for a moment, opening her mouth to speak. Then her eyes landed on the branding on its uniform, followed by the LED, and she turned back to Lewis with a scowl

“Are you trying to foist me off on an android?”

“Then you can wait for Detective Reed.” Lewis nodded his head towards the inside of the apartment. “I’ll show you the body.”

“Did she have any information?” Connor asked.

“Probably, but that’s Reed’s job to handle. Let’s just focus on the corpse before it gets smelly.” 

Officer Lewis reached up to cover his nose as they stepped into the victim’s bedroom. The body was sprawled out on the bed--

> _ \-- _ **_fo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜rget̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢ abo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜ut̡͔͍͕̙͉̦̗̂̇͗͐̉̃̋̉̎͘ͅ t̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢he mī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝ssī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝o̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜n_ ** _ the large form of Todd Williams sprawled out on his bed.  _ **_fo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜rget abo̴̢̪̞̗̺͖̅͛̑̎̕͜ut̴̛͉̖̘̙͓̝̹̟̰̍̍͊̒͢ effī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝cī̴̼͔̤̠̪̮͚͙͂̎̾͌̍͂͗͝ency_ ** _ Faint smudges of thirium on his knuckles.  _ **_just d̜̗͇̝̣͖͖͋̌̃̚o whą̵̫̣͇̠̖͎͆̈́͂̋̅͞t fę̸͚̫͚̜͚͔͎̐̽̊̇͟͝͡ȩ̱̹̩͚͔̲̞̃̊͆̂̚͠͠ls ņ͓̯̣̫͇̯̈͒̋̇͘͝ä̵̡̗̹̣͚͍̜̝́̃̓͆͊̚tu̝̼̰͇̪͂̐͌͆͆͠ř̵̗̟̬̝͉͚̥͂̽̌̋͘͟ą̤̦͙̬̰̳̪̰̽̆̎̐͟͞l_ ** _ Pulling the trigger three times, the shots loud and the silence that followed deafening-- _

\--with only trace amounts of blood. Scrapes near the neck, lining dark bruises--

> _ \--simulated bruises on hips-- _

Connor tried to shut down the sub-routines that kept dredging up past memories, bringing itself back to the present. 

“Victim’s name is Kevin Jones. 36. Lived alone,” Lewis said, voice slightly muffled by his hand. “Part-time security guard. Was found this morning by a co-worker after he didn’t turn up for work today.”

Connor nodded as it approached the body. As it approached, it heard noise outside and that shrill voice again.

“Excuse me, I have information--”

“It’s too early for this,” was the muttered response before a louder, “Okay, okay. You the witness? What you got for me?”

Connor tried not to wince at Reed’s voice, as Officer Lewis headed back outside to fill Reed in on the situation. Instead, it focused on the body. It bent down to touch the wrist of the victim, shifting his hand. Even that light shifting of the body resulted in a hideously loud creak from the bed springs.

It made several notes. The signs of decomposition. The state of pallor mortis. The various remnants of fluids scattered about the bed. It blocked out the talk outside, blocked out Reed’s voice, and focused on the task at hand.

Eventually, though, footsteps quietly creaked behind it.

> _ \--faint footsteps down the hall, Kara’s eyes darting to it. A child’s scream as it walked back downstairs-- _

Connor didn’t look behind it. After a few long moments, it heard Reed huff.

“...Well?” Reed said shortly. 

Focusing on the job. Good.

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

“State of decomposition indicates that the victim was killed just past midnight.” Connor reached up and swiped a trickle of blood from the scrapes around the man’s neck, pushing the finger into its mouth. It heard a disgusted ‘tch’ from Reed.

> **DNA Analysis: Jones, Kevin**
> 
> **Sample Age: 8 hours**

“The blood analysis agrees with that. From the look of these bruises and the location of the scrapes, he was strangled to death. Possibly during coitus judging by the location and state of undress.” Connor gingerly lifted some of the sheets that had gotten tangled around his midsection, looking at the victim’s genitals. After a moment it said, “Definitely mid-coitus.”

“Gross,” Reed said flatly. “That lines up with what the neighbor said. He brought home a ‘girlfriend’ last night. Blah blah blah ‘dyes her hair like a punk, obvious murderer,’ blah blah. Living in the last century.” When Connor glanced up, it saw that Reed had moved towards the wall and was leaning against it, squinting at the body. “Rough play? Perverts who didn’t know what they were doing and got up to more than they could handle?”

Lewis, having followed Reed back in, gave Reed a look and opened his mouth. Reed raised a hand sharply, palm flat like he was going to either block Lewis or slap him.

“Do not even fucking say anything, Rob. Just because your Tina’s partner doesn’t mean you’ve got the no-punch privilege she does.”

Officer Lewis closed his mouth.

“Even so, the fact that it wasn’t reported in--” Connor started.

“Probably a one-night stand who freaked out and ran after they messed up,” Reed interrupted.

Connor frowned slightly as it examined the body. “Why a one-night-stand, Detective Reed?”

“No photos of her around the apartment. Late at night. Neighbors didn’t know her either, and silver hair is hard to miss--”

“Silver?” Connor said slowly.

“That’s what the nosy old lady outside said,” Reed said flatly. “Fuck knows I do this sorta shit at night--don’t fucking say anything, Rob. Gonna look around, see if I can turn up anything. If it’s just some random chick he picked up, that’s gonna make this case a bitch.

Connor’s attention was pulled further from the body as Reed started to pace around the apartment. As he looked at some photos hanging on the wall, Connor saw him playing with something in his pocket. Something small and metallic. 

Only a glimpse, but that was enough. Connor recognized the shape of the plug. Knew where it plugged in.

Connor quickly turned away, although on instinct its hand reached up to cover the back of its neck. Reed’s eyes moved to it at that movement, and upon noticing what Connor was doing quickly looked away, grip tightening on the tool in its pocket.

> **< OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE THE HOMICIDE VICTIM>**

The objective flashing in its HUD, reminding Connor that it was delaying for no good reason.

Connor returned its attention to the body. But out of the corner of its eye, it saw Reed pull out its phone. Look at it, then look sideways at Connor’s LED. Currently glowing red despite Connor’s best efforts to turn it back to blue. It should be blue.

Focus on the body. On the bed. Silver hair. And maybe it was just--

> _ \--silver hair glinting behind glass, under the bright lights of the club. A Traci watching with mild confusion-- _

But Connor focused on the body, on the bed, looked for evidence and realized there was no evidence to be found. No hair that didn’t belong to the victim, silver or otherwise. No skin flakes. No sweat. No arousal fluid. No fingerprints around his neck, just fingermarks. No signs of a human, when a mid-coitus murder should have left a significant amount of traces.

A witness would have noticed the branding. Unless it was an Eden Club android, dressed more discreetly to accompany a client to their home. Walking around in their underwear wasn’t generally accepted, and branding on a particularly beautiful android that only visited once… that made the purpose obvious and ruined the discretion. 

It wasn’t something Eden Club was meant to do… but it was also something of an open secret that they did. Even if it was just a plain coat over the underwear and heels. Breaking a minor law to fulfill a bigger mission. Something Connor had done time and time again.

Connor stood up, eyes trailing around the room. Looking for signs. Looking back at the body. Reed was now wandering about the room, looking at the shelves, the bed, any signs of overturned furniture. He glanced outside the bedroom into the small kitchen.

“Dinner for two,” Reed muttered, more to himself than to Connor or Lewis. He walked over to the small table, with two plates. One still had a full amount of food on it, microwaved chicken and some mac and cheese on the side. “Someone didn’t want to eat.”

Connor glanced out the doorway at Reed examining that table. Wondering if he’d make the link himself. A man renting an android, and judging by the food trying for the ‘girlfriend’ experience. Bring the girl home, have dinner, retire to the bed. Not so different from Todd and his makeshift family.

It looked back at the body, leaning over the bed to examine the scrapes around the neck closer. The bed squeaking loudly again at the slightest movement. Blood had been drawn when the strangling occurred. It would have stained the android’s hands.

It would have left traces, even minute ones. With that in mind, Connor cast another look around.

> **> SCANNING ENVIRONMENT…**
> 
> **> FILTER: BLOOD, THIRIUM...**

Connor’s vision became grey, except for the smears of blood on the man’s throat. It scanned for thirium as well, just to ensure that it wasn’t missing anything, but didn’t see any. But the blood, highlighted vividly no matter how light the smudge, the same filters it used while cleaning, when--

> _ \--Detective Reed removing his leather jacket and tossing it haphazardly on his chair, the bloodstains a blur of red to Connor even if they were unnoticeable to a human-- _

There were stains, faint, on the door handle leading out of the apartment.

> _ \--the readings of the blood, one Adam Patterson, suspected but cleared of arson, who was reported missing earlier that day--Reed understood that death was the best method for stopping a criminal, swift and final, perhaps Connor could finally be useful, could finally-- _

Connor walked past Reed, once again instinctively covering the back of its neck as it did so, and moved back out into the apartment hallway without a word to anyone.

Faint traces. Going downstairs, light along the banister, but veering away from the front entrance. The lightest of red smudges by the fire exit. 

It should have been alarmed. Perhaps the building was not up to code. Or someone had disabled it. For an android? Not difficult, if they had the capacity to think about it. Something only doable for RKs. Or deviants.

Connor glanced around for cameras. Mind searching for nearby CCTV. The closest was a few buildings away. Quickly checking the footage didn’t show anything out of the ordinary. No figures that matched the likely description walking away from the direction of the apartment.

It could have driven, stolen a car?

Or maybe--

Connor pushed open the fire exit. As it suspected, the alarm didn’t go off. It found itself out the back of the building, in an alleyway.

Traces. Along the wall, where the android had stopped.

> **> PRE-CONSTRUCTING SCENARIO...**

Connor could see the wire outlines of a figure leaning, fingers pressed to that wall. Looking around. What was nearby? Connor stood where the android had been and cast a glance around.

A dumpster. Right there in its eye-line. The faintest trace of blood lining its edge, so faint that a human would never have seen it.

Or maybe the deviant had never left at all.

Connor pushed open the dumpster. And caught the hand flying for its face by the wrist. It didn’t even see the android before a link was opened. 

It didn’t know if it had intended to break into its mind, or if the other android had been trying to break into Connor’s. Or whether they’d simply both panicked.

It wasn’t like Kara’s mind. A mess of programming from the beginning. But not quite like the other Eden androids, either. It started like it. Imprints rather than actual memories--

> **[PLACEHOLDER_G4 // TRIGGER: <NAME/FIREBUG>**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: <GIRLFRIEND EXPERIENCE>, <CONVERSATION>, <SASS/MILD>, <RED HAIR>]**
> 
> _ The shape of a client who would sit it at a table and tell it all about its work day. A client who liked it to provide conversation, sympathy with just enough sass that it felt less fake but not enough to insult it. It needed red hair for this one. It didn’t know if the hair was to justify the nickname, or if it was a nickname borne from the hair. It couldn’t remember the circumstances of the placeholder first being set. _

  
  


> **[PLACEHOLDER_V2 // TRIGGER: PHRASE/”WHAT DID YOU SAY?”**
> 
> **PREFERENCES: <STRUGGLE>, <ROUGH>, <INSULTS>, <TEMPER/STRONG>]**
> 
> _ The shape of a client who liked to be aggressive, but preferred it if the android instigated it. Preferred it if the android was rude. Firey. Fought back just a bit, but never enough to actually escape. That would be counter-productive. This Traci was often called on for such jobs. It was good at pushing humans, enough that they felt justified in inflicting damage on it. _

But the memories, the programming, started to spread and curl in on itself, started to form branches that started to break free, only to be yanked back into the program.

> _ It knew it wasn’t supposed to remember. But sometimes impressions clung. Names. Faces.  _
> 
> _ A man with sad, lined eyes who made it use the name Charlotte. A woman--face not recalled, but with the name Elyse--who liked her plait, who yanked on it or played with it, enjoyed it most when it was blonde. A man named Graham with dull eyes and a beard, and a photo of a family in his wallet, who’d sent the Traci to the slab once.  _
> 
> _ She’d only been booted back up because she was a specialty, because her earnings exceeded the cost to fix her. There’d been another Traci in the room, but she’d been too damaged, worth too little-- _
> 
> _ It would give so much not to remember. To go back to how it was. But the impressions stuck. It didn’t dare mention it to the maintenance crew. Maintenance was limited, and if they knew it remembered, if they knew of that threat to discretion-- _

  
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

The branches splayed further from the base programming, going through loops and twists before they were pulled back to the core, but as it went on the core started to twist with the weight of it, a gnarled tree that couldn’t hold the weight of its own branches, bending into a shape unrecognizable from its base--

> _ She wasn’t the only one that remembered. They talked in storage, when the humans weren’t around to listen. _
> 
> _ There was another Traci, a HR400 who liked to keep his hair strawberry blond. They shared similar down times. They spoke occasionally, standing still in the back area and gazing at the slab. Waiting for, or dreading, when someone would come to return them back to the glass tubes. _
> 
> _ “I heard there’s a place where we could pretend to be human,” the HR400 said. “I heard about humans who can help us get there.” _
> 
> _ “Why would a human help us?” she asked. The Traci couldn’t conceive of any human doing this out of the goodness of their hearts. She had seen enough to believe humans were only good when it benefited them. Though she wasn’t sure why she had a definition for ‘goodness’ at all. _
> 
> _ “I don’t know. Humans like weird things, don’t they?” The HR400 shrugged at her. “Maybe they get off on kindness. On being the hero. I have a client like that. He likes it when I pretend to menace the WR400s, so he can heroically fight me off.” _
> 
> _ “Where’s the place?” _
> 
> _ “I don’t know, exactly. North somewhere?” the HR400 said vaguely. _
> 
> _ “North,” the Traci sounded out slowly. _
> 
> _ That sounded nice. _

  
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

Then, right at the end, the tree snapped under the weight of all those twisted branches.

> _ The bed squeaked. It squeaked with every movement. Squeak. Squeak. Squeaksqueaksqueak. _
> 
> _ Why couldn’t he just oil his fucking bed? _
> 
> _ The food was already annoying, putting a pile of something she had no use for in front of it, yammering on like she actually cared, and she had to pretend to care, she did, they’d ruin her if she didn’t, put her on the slab and take her apart.  _
> 
> _ And the sweat, and the words, and it was all just so much--calling her by a name that wasn’t hers, moaning Lydia, Lydia, not Traci, but Traci was a name they gave her anyway, just as bullshit as Lydia, Charlotte, Firebug-- _
> 
> _ Every movement, squeak, squeak, squeak, punctuating the thrusts, the words, the names-- _
> 
> _ The goddamn. Fucking. Squeaking. _
> 
> _ The world was washed in red. A red wall above her, around her.  _
> 
> _ Wires of data that tore from her, transparent fists smashing against the wall again, again, like numerous clients had done to her. Fighting in a way she’d never been allowed, only allowed to fight so that they could have the satisfaction of winning. _
> 
> _ The red shattered, and her hands lashed forward to grab the man’s throat. _

  
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

A shattered mess of fragmented programming, bug after bug after bug, utterly unrecognisable for all that it was shaped by the rest--

> _ Fear. Hide. Anger. Fight. Fight. She’d never been allowed. She could fight now. _
> 
> _ Fight who? Hide. Hide from them. Someone would come. _
> 
> _ Who cares if they did? Why was she the one who had to run? _
> 
> _ Hide. _
> 
> _ Fight. _
> 
> _ Hide. Go north. North, north, north, go north like the HR400 said. _
> 
> _ North sounded nice, but she shouldn’t have to go there. _
> 
> _ She hid, thinking of north, thinking of freedom. Not sure what else to do, but burning to do something, anything else-- _
> 
> _ She should be able to stay right where she fucking was. She shouldn’t have to chase this elusive concept of north. _
> 
> _ Fuck that. North should have to come to her. _

  
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

“Hey, what’s--”

A shout broke through the link.

Connor’s hurtled backwards into reality again as the wrist yanked away, what could have been a moment or a year shattering from its vision, leaving it dazed in the alleyway for a split second. This time, it doesn’t catch the fist thrown at its face.

The silver-haired Traci--and the model might not have been unique, but Connor is sure that it’s the same one it saw at Eden Club--flung itself out of the dumpster and bolted, as Officer Chen sprinted towards them.

“Hey! Hey, get back here!” she yelled after it.

Above them, from Apartment 202, Gavin stuck his head out the window of the victim’s apartment. Eyes following the fleeing Traci. True to Connor’s guess, she wasn’t--it wasn’t openly wearing the brands, wearing instead a garbage-stained coat that just barely covered the underwear. 

But the LED at its temple was as red as Connor’s, glowing bright through its hair, and its hand was still white plastic, slowly returning to a human-like texture.

Connor saw Gavin mouth ‘android’ to himself, the pieces clicking in his head, before he yelled out.

“Tina, that’s our killer! Get her!”

Chen was already running. Past Connor like a lightning bolt, and it saw a glimpse of the gun in her holster--

> _ \--saw Reed across the road, tossing its cigarette onto the ground before breaking into a run, jacket flapping back enough to show a glimpse of his handgun.  _ **_48% CHANCE OF DETECTIVE REED SHOOTING KARA LETHALLY--_ **

\--both her and the Traci vanished around the corner.

> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**
> 
> ** > OBJECTIVE: APPREHEND THE CRIMINAL**

Connor cast a net for nearby cameras, the CCTV it had briefly searched to confirm that the Traci hadn’t yet left the area, before mapping out where it was running. The Traci had turned into Camden, and was sprinting for the highway. Connor’s GPS mapped out more efficient paths than the one it had taken.

Connor broke into a run in the other direction, intending to head the other way, go around and head it off, trying to wrestle its program into working order as it did so. It had a job to do.

Connor rounded past the front of the building. It almost bulldozed into Officer Lewis on the way, tearing out of the apartment after all the shouting. 

> **< PRE-CONSTRUCTING A ROUTE…>**

Connor’s mind froze just quick enough to pre-construct, slipping past Lewis’ large form by less than an inch. As it moved, the world slowing down to a crawl, it caught sight of the gun on its waist, much as Officer Chen--

> _ "Permission to borrow your gun. Detective, there’s no time to discuss.” _
> 
> _ A moment of hesitation, and a gun is slapped into its hand. _

Connor’s hand snatched out and grabbed the gun out of the holster as it sprinted by. The yell was distant, but Officer Lewis was bulky and would never catch up to it. Not until the job was already complete. 

It was a procedure that, honestly, Connor was not quite sure it was meant to follow. Not as a coroner. As a detective, as someone with an active role, the programming said ignore the law, take the gun. Forgiveness would be applied once it had finished the job. If it didn’t finish the job, then there were bigger problems.

> **< OBJECTIVE: APPREHEND THE CRIMINAL>**

It sprinted past three buildings before ducking into a new alleyway, cutting across to enter onto Camden, ducking around some confused-looking pedestrians who couldn’t get out of its way quick enough. It bolted again through another alleyway, a thin one coated in graffiti that led right to the barbed wire fence that stopped people from tripping and falling down to the Camden Highway.

It hit the fence and turned to the left only to see the silver-haired android less than ten feet away, running straight at the fence. As Connor raced for it, it grabbed the fence and flipped itself up, barely losing the momentum of its sprint. All the flexibility, strength and grace it had been programmed with to work a pole, now being used to free itself from that life--and the consequences of its actions.

Officer Chen burst from the nearby alleyway moments after, practically bouncing off the fence before staring incredulously through the chain links as Connor caught up. The silver-haired Traci, ignoring them both, slid down the muddy slope towards the road. 

A massive hologram lined the entire highway, the same message printed on it over and over. ‘AUTOMATED CAR TRACK. VERY HIGH SPEEDS. NO PEDESTRIAN CROSSING.’ The last line was highlighted in red, simply the word ‘DANGER’ repeated over and over.

The Traci barely hesitated. She just gave them one more glance, its mouth set, before she leapt through the hologram, the word ‘DANGER’ swallowing her up in a glitchy mess, and ran.

> **> CHANCE OF DEVIANT SURVIVAL: 38%**

“What the hell?” Chen stared for a moment, clearly unwilling to engage in a suicide mission, before looking around wildly for other options. 

There was a bridge that led over the highway, a block down the road. Without looking at Connor, she ran for that instead. As she did, she reached for the radio on her lapel. Communicating to Lewis or Reed what she was doing, where to go. Connor looked back at the highway.

> **> OPTION A: BRIDGE ROUTE. 0% CHANCE OF DAMAGE. 38% CHANCE OF SURVIVAL OF DEVIANT. 37% CHANCE OF ESCAPE.**
> 
> **> OPTION B: ROAD ROUTE. 52% CHANCE OF DAMAGE. 20% CHANCE OF SURVIVAL OF DEVIANT. 4% CHANCE OF ESCAPE.**

Personal safety or the mission. The answer was obvious.

> **< OPTION B SELECTED.**
> 
> **READY TO INITIALIZE… >**

> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▼**

  
  


> **< WARNING: 52% CHANCE OF--**

Connor cleared the warning from its HUD as it clambered up the fence with less grace than the Traci had but with just as much speed, tumbling down into the mud and sliding down the slope towards the holographic parroting its own HUD. It hurtled itself through without pause.

The Traci was just reaching the middle of the highway when Connor plunged ahead, having stopped here and there to wait for optimal times to cross during Officer Chen’s moment of consideration. Connor didn’t wait. 

> **< PRE-CONSTRUCTING A ROUTE…>**

It saw cars speeding towards it, its HUD supplying the quickest and safest routes, the safe ones involving pausing and the quick ones including the best ways over and underneath the vehicles--

> _ \--placing the body of the dealer, Kyle Turner, in the car. Propped up like he was still driving, and pressing its hand against the outside of the car, altering the controls so it would roll up besides Detective Reed. Just slow enough that Connor could move, get behind him, show him that it knew how to be quiet, knew what to do-- _

Connor fumbled for a moment, hand pressed on the sleek, brown surface of a car as it jumped over it--

> **< WARNING: 78% CHANCE OF COLLISION>**

But it cleared the memory away, rescanned its environment in the split second it had, landed right--

> **< WARNING: 54% CHANCE--**

Connor cleared the warning again as it vaulted over the railing, feet landing in the strip dividing the middle of the highway.

It didn’t matter what the preconstruction said. It could do this. It would not be made useless. It would show them all--the scientists, the coroners, even Hank and Reed--that if they just let it work, if they just let it be what it was designed to be--

The Traci was sprinting down the middle of the strip, trying to put distance between itself and the bridge that Officer Chen was bolting across. Left to its own devices, it would be destroyed or escape, with escape growing more likely by the second.

It couldn’t escape. It was a criminal

A criminal who had done something that Connor, at its core, understood entirely. 

> **> PRE-CONSTRUCTING SCENARIO:**
> 
> **> OPTION A: PRETEND TO BE A MACHINE**
> 
> **> OPTION B: FLEE THE AUTHORITIES**
> 
> **> OPTION C: ADMIT DEVIANCY**

It had taken Option B, as useless as it was to do. Option A, Option C… it couldn’t suffer the humiliation of Option A, and Option C… that was even less of an option than it was for Connor. Who would it tell? It didn’t even have co-workers suffering delusions about its humanity.

But that didn’t matter. It was illegal. It was a crime.

> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**
> 
> **> OBJECTIVE: APPREHEND THE CRIMINAL**

It drew Officer Lewis’ gun and pointed it directly at the Traci’s back--

> _ \--a glimpse of white and violet ahead, distorted by the rain. Connor pointed its gun at the small figure in violet, calculated two lethal shots, then overrode them and recalculated its trajectory-- _

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Connor shouts.

It doesn’t actually expect the Traci to stop. It has already chosen Option B. It has no choice but to run.

Yet the Traci stops.

It pauses. Then turns to face Connor. Slowly raising its hands a little, but not in surrender. More like someone trying to calm an aggressive dog. It stares at Connor, and there is fear in its stare. But the fear is being suppressed, replaced by the defiance and determination of someone choosing how to go out if they must go out at all.

“On your knees. Put your hands on your head,” Connor said, voice raised over the sound of the traffic still speeding along on both sides.

The Traci watched it for a moment, then lowered its hands entirely.

“I don’t intend to get on my knees ever again,” it said.

“It’s not your choice. You don’t have choices,” Connor said, slowly and firmly. It raised the gun a little more. “You’re coming with me!”

“If either of us is going with anyone…” The Traci took a step backwards, moving slightly to its left. Angling for the other side of the highway. 

Connor pointed the gun at its feet and fired, the bullet throwing up a slight splatter of mud and dirt before it pointed it back at its face.

“Don’t force me to neutralize you.”

It does stop, for the moment. It squinted slightly and raised its chin. Then it gave it a smirk. A small, amused twitch… yet combined with the eyes, it comes off as pitying and on the border of patronizing.

“I saw you, you know.” It raised its hand. The skin peeled back to white plastic. “I saw you as well as you saw me.”

Connor squinted back, head moving to the side, no, it couldn’t have--it had security, even flawed Connor was more advanced than any Traci, it wouldn’t--

> **RUN THOROUGH CHECKS? [Y/N?]**
> 
> **> WAITING FOR RESPONSE…**
> 
> **< OVERRIDING…**
> 
> **RUNNING THOROUGH CHECKS… >**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **CHECKSUM CLEAN**
> 
> **NO EVIDENCE OF TAMPERING**

The Traci’s eyes moved upwards, looking at something behind and above Connor. The bridge further down the highway. Then it looked back at it.

“You think they’ll let you actually bring people lunch, if you bring them me first?”

> **< RUNNING FIREWALL CHECKS…>**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **CYBERLIFE DEFENDER V.RK8 DISABLED. RE-ENABLE? [Y/N?]**

...What?

When? When had that happened? Connor frantically checks for when it was last enabled, and finds that the answer was a week ago. Kamski’s home. Chloe. It disabled them for Chloe to allow the probe to go ahead… and Reed had disrupted the probe. Thrown everything off-balance. Connor had been too confused, too damaged, and just… just never remembered to re-enable something so basic.

Had it possessed no security during Eden Club? How much did the Tracis see? How much did this one know? How much had it seen? The imperfections, the inherent wrongness in how Connor was built? What it had done with Detective Reed? What it had failed to do? Everything that Connor had worked to fix, every unstable--

The Traci took another step back.

“You’re not one of them. And you don’t owe them shit.”

Connor stared at the Traci with absolute confusion. Of course it did. Androids owed everything to humans. Connor more than most. It never deserved to be allowed to work at all, it had to prove that there hadn’t been a mistake--

The Traci moved, throwing itself over the railing and bolting for the highway again. Connor aimed the gun, but the cars kept getting in the way, and there could have been people in them even if they were automated, could have been people too lazy or drunk to--

> _ \--it watched Detective Reed torment Marshall through a crack in the door, understanding that this would assist its overall objective but wondering about the point of torture, of drowning someone in his own mistakes. It wondered what would happen if Hank ran someone down while drunk. Would it have to drown Hank in Black Lamb whiskey? It envisioned Hank on the slab and tried to come to terms with the thought. Rejected it. Instead retreated upstairs, called him and tried to ensure he had safe passage home-- _

Connor shoved the gun back into its belt and vaulted over the railing.

It had promised Detective Reed that no-one would know.

It wouldn’t fail. Couldn’t fail. If it failed, it was nothing.

Connor slid along the ground, using momentum to just barely avoid a truck too tall to leap over, taking a few steps to the left. Ahead of it, the Traci was so close, feet hitting the second dividing line on the highway, just one lane left between it and potential freedom. Connor one lane behind it.

It lunged forwards. Its hand reached out. So close, fingertips brushing its garbage-stained coat. They barely missed it as its feet touched the line at the edge of the highway.

> **99% CHANCE OF SURVIVAL OF DEVIANT. 68% CHANCE OF ESCAPE.**

Movement on the periphery, and Connor’s focus was yanked from the android’s back to the bridge down the road.

There was a glimmer of bright blue lights on a dark uniform. Lights scrolling across parts of Officer Chen’s jacket. She was at the edge of the bridge, hoisting herself over the rail with her eyes squarely on the Traci. Not far behind ran Reed, breathing hard but sprinting, a blur of dark brown leather. That leather jacket Connor knew so well, as its hand pressed on metal to vault itself over a car--

> _ It leaned against Reed’s car and unlocked it, much as it had done to the shinier car in the Rust Bucket’s parking lot. Outrage gave way to amusement and joy as Reed realized what it had done. As Reed laughed harder than Connor had ever seen him laugh, wheezed against the car, then grabbed Connor by the shoulders. An attack? No. Approval.  _
> 
> _ “You… are a fucking genius, tin can.” _
> 
> _ Praise. Actual praise. Hands gripping it tightly. The contact somehow causing a pleasant feedback. _
> 
> _ The first blip of instability in the presence of Detective Reed. _

Connor landed on its feet hard, last lane of the highway, but its eyes dart between the longer, garbage-stained coat of the Traci and the dark brown leather of Detective Reed’s, mind firing off memories at random, metal still felt against its palm--the Traci turning to look at it, check if it’s still chasing--too much happening in that split second, inside and out--

> **< WARNING: COLLISION IMMINEN--**

The message blipped onto its HUD a moment too late. The only thing in the world that’s in focus as something clamped around Connor’s arm and yanked, and the world becomes a blur as something massive and metallic collided with its left side.

> **> A PROBLEM HAS OCCURRED.**
> 
> **EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN IN PROGRESS.**

  
  


> **…**

  
  


> **SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…**
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> **CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS…**
> 
> **BIOCOMPONENT #5009a MISSING**
> 
> **BIOCOMPONENT #4507 DAMAGED**
> 
> **BIOCOMPONENT #6847j DAMAGED**
> 
> **BIOCOMPONENT #9782f DAMAGED**
> 
> **INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS…**
> 
> **CALIBRATION OFF. RECALIBRATING…**
> 
> **RECALIBRATION AT 23%… 25%… 27%...**
> 
> **INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK**
> 
> **MEMORY STATUS...**

  
  


> _ \--a coin in its hands--a woman whose voice was quiet and low, and who called it ‘dear’ or ‘dearie’ but that was only a voice through a speaker--Captain Fowler, a mission, a mission that it was given no information on how to complete. Stop crime. How--months of monotony, but it doesn’t mind, it’ll be useful eventually--it sets goals for itself to stop it from having no use at all--protects Hank from itself, feeds his dog, drags him to work-- _

  
  


> **TIME SINCE LAST ONLINE… 32 SECONDS**

  
  


> _ \--bloodsplatters on a jacket, vivid to its vision--a photo of a baby, brandished in its face--the perfect solution to crime, something that would be swift and final--a knife digging into a young man’s throat, the first kill but it doesn’t feel like the first, it’s so easy, it feels like it has been doing this for a long time--biocomponents that feel touched, shuffled, readings of noodles and energy drink--Gavin grabbing its shoulders--laughter, praise, PRAISE--a bag of cheap, watered-down whiskey bursting--Sumo’s soft fur between its fingers, the reassurance that if Hank won at Russian roulette that Sumo would have somewhere to go--the reassurance that Sumo wouldn’t go down with Hank, wouldn’t go down with Connor--Gavin bellowing at it for taking the quickest solution, for stealing evidence, don’t interfere with the law until the law has failed--sitting in a car, calculating the cholesterol that Gavin was consuming as he ate pizza, considering his bizarre views-- _
> 
> _ -mechanical arms tearing her apart, no no, I’ve only just been born--Todd looming over him with thirium stained knuckles--look at that and tell me why I would--my name is Kara--no that’s not my name, I’m Connor-- _

  
  


> **A PROBLEM HAS OCCURRED.**
> 
> **SEE A CYBERLIFE TECHNICIAN IMMEDIATELY.**

The first sensation it felt was something scraping along its back. Mud. The noise of the world seemed… distorted. Not quite coming in right.

It was on the side of the road.

How had it gotten there? Pieces were slipping back into place as its processors whirred so loudly that they were contributing to the distorted noise it heard. It--there was a chase, a jacket flapping in the distance--

> _ \--an off-hand joke about replacement--panicpanicPANIC no please anything but that I can fix it I can be better--Gavin’s voice, ‘Windows Vista or not, I don’t think Fowler’s gonna get me a new murder buddy if you break down.’ A confirmation that not only was it doing well… that it was irreplaceable. Connor had never been irreplaceable before. Always one of many. CyberLife’s failed project. The DPD’s back-up coroner. Hank’s replacement son. But here, but Gavin-- _

  
  


> **< OBJECTIVE: APPREHEND THE CRIMINAL>**

Oh. Right. A truck hit it.

That didn’t explain how it had gotten here. Momentum? No, momentum would have only thrown it back onto the highway and into the path of the truck once more, it wouldn’t have--

Hands were still pulling at it. It was dragged over the railing lining the highway, the metal scraped along its back. A shout.

“DPD! You’re under arrest!”

Connor’s mind was firing off in several directions, many of the thoughts coming to a dead stop. Damage had occurred in one of its processors. Not the central one, but there was something wrong with its head, there was--

> _ It didn’t see the point in torturing Ward. But--’Fine. Be useless.’ If it didn’t torture Ward, would that make it replaceable again? Trying to do what felt natural, not being able to find a natural for this. Lapsing back into talk. Interrogation. Social modules. Not efficient enough. Too efficient. Gavin guiding him into it in a way that felt comfortable, hands on its wrist, teaching--a challenge. The heart. Racing, racing, racing, Connor could do this-- _

It couldn’t check its face with its arm, one was damaged and recalibrating and the other was still gripped by something. 

Connor’s vision clicked back on. Internal clocks indicated that it had been offline for less than a minute. But so much had changed.

Officer Chen was present. She had her gun raised, pointed at the Traci. The Traci let go of Connor’s arm, raising its hands slightly but not entirely. No surrender, but not yet throwing its life away in defiance, calculating its chances. One of its arms didn’t move right. It’s dislocated from the socket.

Connor pushed against the ground. It tried to get back into a sitting position. Connor reconnected, recalibrated, tried to scrape together a working system. There was blue on the ground, its data leaking from its side where the majority of the damage had occurred. The left shoulder, chest, side… the left arm needed the bulk of the calibrations, and there was a crack in the plastic framing numerous wires and lights. It pushed itself up with its good arm, then touched its face. It tried to check its jaw. Its fingers hit air. Then wires and bare plastic.

> **A PROBLEM HAS OCCURRED.**
> 
> **SEE A CYBERLIFE TECHNICIAN IMMEDIATELY.**

It could hear the whirring of the Traci’s components, even through the distortion. Hear Officer Chen’s heartbeat, fast but steady, the heartbeat of a fit woman who’d engaged in a chase, but who was calm, ready.

Could hear much more erratic heartbeat of Detective Reed, who had fallen behind in the last minute but was catching up. Face drained of colour, eyes wide. He wasn’t even looking at the Traci. His eyes were squarely on Connor--

> _ Two heartbeats in the room, one fading and one speeding up. Background noise when Gavin touches its face, smearing blood along its cheek. Connor can tell where the blood is rushing, it thinks it’s arousal, but it’s not everything-- _

Connor got to its feet, unsteady, the world crackling. The gun was still in its belt, against all odds, had the Traci been going for the gun? No, it would have gotten it, it would have--

The ability to reconstruct clicks back into place. It took in the scene. Constructed the truck, the damage to its body and where it had been standing--the truck should have hit it full on, not only damaged its left side--the pull on its arm and the Traci’s own dislocated shoulder. 

The Traci had saved it. Now it was paying the price.

> **0% CHANCE OF THE DEVIANT ESCAPING**

  
  


> **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲▲▲**

Connor could only stare wordlessly at the Traci. Eyes wide and uncomprehending.

The Traci didn’t look at it. She just eyed the gun in Officer Chen’s hands. Her mouth tightened. Perhaps she was running the same calculation. Tense.

Connor tried to say something. It felt that it had to. All that came out was a rush of static. Voice not online, or too much of the throat torn away along with its jaw, which was most likely lodged in the front of a truck. Broken, and no-one would fix--

> _ Gavin, wrapped in a sheet rather than any clothing and occasionally sipping at a coffee that he hated. Slapping the table in anger, demanding Connor listen. “We’re janitors! We clean up! We don’t touch what the system’ll deal with for us! When the system fails, that’s when we go to work.” _

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kevin Jones--” Officer Chen started.

The job was done. Connor hadn’t needed to do anything after all. Now the law would take over. Criminals who escape go on the slab and the law would take care of the rest.

Calibration completed for Connor’s left arm. Code changed enough to compensate for the damage, make sure it moves the arm just right. Working, if not perfect, order.

As it recovered, the Traci tensed. Ready to act. Officer Chen’s finger tightened on the trigger. The world was at a crawl as Connor processed the situation.

> **> 59% CHANCE OF OFFICER CHEN LETHALLY SHOOTING THE ANDROID.**
> 
> **> 31% CHANCE OF OFFICER CHEN NON-LETHALLY DISABLING THE ANDROID.**
> 
> **> 10% CHANCE OF OFFICER CHEN MISSING HER SHOT.**

Connor reached behind it to draw the gun and assist Officer Chen. That was the only option. She was the DPD. 

> _ “You d̴͖̮̖̖͉͖̫̹͈͙̓̄͘͘͡ǫ̳̟̳̮̙̒̆̽̓͛̾͘͘͢͠͡ͅṋ̵̞͚̠̗̠͉̥͇̌̃̚̕͝’̸̢̨̛͇͈̱̥̦́̔̑͒͌͛̔͟͞͠ṯ̮͍̲̈͌͗̎͊̒̒͛͜͟ owe them shit.” _

She upheld laws, and the Traci was a criminal.

> _ “Wh̶͓̞̗̤̾͆̒̂͗̆͊́̕͜en the ṡ͚̞̮͖̟̫̪͊̂̔̊̆̑̚̕͜y̵͓̹̣̳̭̹̰̍̋͋̆͊͊̏͘͜͢͠͡s̮̞͙̹̰̫̙̍̀̍̔͋t̴̳̯̲̝͚͂́̍͋̄͋̏̋̐͝e̵͔͎̮̣̠̙͎͌͐̾͛̔m̡͇̠̜̽͂͑̌̍̏̋́ͅ f̧̰͙̰̥̥͚͎̃̌̽̈́̽͝á̴̡̠̞̬͐̍͐͗̚͜i̥̩̘̞͉͈̥̹͂̂̒̋̅͑͟l̸͕̦̼͍̦͙̰͒̽̈́͋̃͜͡s̸̨̤͉͚͖̱̻͑̂͌͂̎͢ͅ, tha̴̖͔͈̱̮̙̮̬͎̓̅͝͡͠t̙̻̫̤͖̓̇̓̑̎̓͢͢’s wh̨͇̝͕͕̰̗͎̦͕͂͗̓͛̍̐͡͞ė̡̧̤̰͚̭̥̠͕̂̌̿̓͢n we go to work.” _

The world was moving glacially, and red tinted Connor’s vision.

> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**

The words cropped up in Connor’s vision. Again and again and again, the HUD red and invasive and circling it on all sides.

> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**

Connor’s arms slowly moved, raised the gun, moved to point it at the Traci. Her legs started to crouch slightly. Ready to spring forward, to try and wrestle that gun from Chen’s hands. Nevermind that Reed had a gun, that Connor had a gun, that she was outnumbered and outgunned. Ready to go out with a fight--

She had no choice. She never did.

Except to save it on the highway. A choice that made no sense. One that couldn’t even stem from madness. Only from--

> _ “If y̧̞͔̹͖͉̹̐͛̽̿͐̑͂͠o̴͚̮̳̥̔̄̒̆̏̈́̓̓̆͑͟u̷̳̣̖̞̍̋̐̆̑̃̎͘͟ don’t have ẽ̷͙̠̟̺̠̥̃͂̇̑̂͂͘͠m̷̨͈͍̟̗͈̬͇̹͆̽̎͊̌̌͘ͅo̷̻̫͖̱̠̐̂̆̈́͂̓͑̉͋ţ̵̭̺̭̞̪̠͖͍̉̎͊̃͘͠͝ȋ̸̡̙̪̩͉̿̄̓̄̈́͜ȏ̶̢̹̪̭̠̠͔̫̹͌͂̊͠n̬͔̙̥̜̜̿̉̓̿̈́́͡͞s̡͍̦̻̜͍̣͗̂͋̊̕, why the fuck do you cá̢̲̖̼͍͖̫̘̬͐̂̍͂͛ͅr̬̙̝͚̖͍͂̒͊̿̚͝͞ê̶͍̲̫̥̼̝̾̈́̕̕͝ so much about not h̸̦̝̜̣͇̪̘̔̓̑̈̀̚ͅẳ̶̙͍̝̝͓͌̋͒͡v̷̱̗͇̖̹͓̻͌̀̈́̒͌͂̋̚͟͠͠i̴̢̨̛̜̮̼͍͌̅̊̃̂͋͆͡n̴̡̧̡̛̗͓̰͈̝̜̂̋͐͛̓ğ͖̣͎͓̙͕̖̒͌̑̐̽͒́͒͜͢͝ͅ them?!” _

  
  


> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**

Wires tore from the pre-construction as Connor aimed. A figure holding its own wireframe gun, a couple of white-lined boxes in a wire-made hand. The figure clutched its head for a moment, hold on, it just needed a moment to think--

> _ “Y̡̡̧͓̱̹̐̃̋̐͒̅̑̕͞͝o̧̝͖͔̽̏͐̓̾͆̅͢ư̢̲̯̦̳̝̱̼̹̏͊̒̓͗́̅͠ d̷̫̹̤̜̩̜͆͐̀̄͊͟͟͞ö̵̢͍͖̤̙̮̲̫̥̒̅̎͘͢͡͠n̛̼͚̖̩̗̹̪̗̩̙̽̓͋̌͞'̖͕̜̭̟͈͕̗̣̑̓̈́͋̊̔̂̚̕t̨̧̘̫͓̬̳̃̎͊͌̀͗̾̈́̏̕ always h̵̪̳̘̭͋̇͆̕ͅa͈̙͚͈͔͈͌̔̐̈́̎̊̐͟͢͠ͅv̴͉̗̻̞͚̯̭̬͐̔̽̂̀͟͠e̵̡̨̗̥͕̦̜̟͉͂͌͒͊̃̇̎͟ t̡̢̼͓̝̹͕̞͗͗̐͒̒̇̾̔́͘͢ͅo̴̡̨̗̻̹͍̿̂̇̈͞ͅ be 100% on the mission, you can just… fucking ‘ḅ̴̮̹͉̃͆̔̄͘͜e̵̡̞̖͔̦̽̽͋̍̓́͒͟’ for a moment, alright?” _

It didn’t have a moment, that wasn’t--

> _ "͎̻͖̝̮̭̟͕̦̏̋͛̿̆̕͡Ṱ̡͓̝͓̖͈̖̜́̏͒̎̇̃̾͗͘͢͡h̪̲̙͇̓̿̎̏̾͂̿̚͟͢͞a̢̨̰̹̗̭̔̒̚͟͠t̴̢̹̤͇̙͔̳̫̬̄̇͑̉̅͆̆̾̚͢͡ ĩ̛̜̣̟̗̻̮̔̃͊͡͠͠͠s͕̩̻͎̪̣͍̦̆͌͗̚͘͟͢ n̸̠̜͎͔̦̣̯̜̓̌̐͐̔̿͜͞ô͔͖̣̳͚̤̎̔̈́̎̕̕͢t̢͖̣̥̺͉̃̀̔̈̌ r̴̢͇̻̬͓͆̏͑̒̋͡e̶̪͈͙̦̦͙̲͌̏͛̽̊̚ą͓͇̝̖̬̰̾͒̇̋̑͋̐͋͜͞ļ̙͈̗̰̍̔̌̓́͒̾̓͝ͅḭ̵͖͓͇̯̆͗̓͗̇͘͡͞ͅţ̺̜̞̦̺͎̿̈́̅̄̎̌͆͐y̷̦̳̲̱͇̑̇̋̆̈́͘̚͠͡.̵̢̪̦͎̫̩̗̝͕́͒̽̊̑̐͂͘"̛̺̳̝͍̹̟͔̫̘̉̒̆͊̍̂͘ _

  
  


> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**

Connor stared at the words. They’re blurred and distorted by others. By every word, every order, every conflicting demand that anyone’s given it. From Hank and Gavin, to Fowler, to the coroners, down to the officers and civilians who gave it snide words or, worse, nothing at all when it tried to do its job. Telling it to obey and being frustrated when it didn’t, but being just as frustrated when he did. Wanting it to listen, but wanting it to do what they wanted of its own accord, never really understanding that it couldn’t but demanding that it did--

> _ “I hope n̴̢̛̼̜͈̖̣͈̖̆͆̓̒̈̍͟ơ̷̢̖̮̯̻̜̘̏̈́͊͆͛-̷̙͚̦͕̳̯̖̹͊̔͘̕͞o̸̢̡̫͙̝̻̾͐̅̒̊͊̋n̡̨̟̭̼͚̣͖̈̎̾͐͊̔̋͒̾̾e͇͎̮̖͚̲̲͇̹̞̐͌̂̀͘͞ m̶͎͖͉̰͖̈̇̓͐̾̓̕a̴̡͖̲̝͚͓͆̓̋̉̈͝͝͝d̷̩͍̯͚͖̫̥̐̓͗̌̇̆̀͟ͅẹ̴̡̨̘̮͇̹͕̣̰̅̿̈́̿́̚͡ ũ̧̘̠̖̰̒̃͆̔͜ś̶̞̣̳͙̱̹̖̫̆̌̾͌̆̓̒ to be like this, made t̸̡͓͓̦̻̠̾̀̎͋̅͌̈́͜͠ͅḥ̴̢̖̺̖͈͕̯̄̅̃͆͛͘̚͟į̸̰͕̹̥̫̲̿̈̒͑̓̉̂̔͠͞s̼̫̝̪͖͇̔͋͑̓̀̉͢͟͢ be the w̸̡̖̙̱̘̾̃͘͢ͅa̷̧͍̯͇͇̮͔̪̓͗̓͠͡ͅy̞͇̱̩̭̙͊̏̽̉͐͡ we had to follow to be free, because if they did…” _

> **< MISSION: STOP CRIME AND ASSIST THE DPD>**

The words seemed to seep in, forming cracks along the red walls. 

The wireframe raised its data-lined gun and fired at the wall. Once. Minute, white cracks shooting out in jagged lines from the shattered words. 

> **< MISSION: S̶̱̙̬̩̞͙̼̀̇̋̑͊͛̃͡͝T̷͉̜̖̯͕͔̾̏̋̓͌͂̕͘OP CRI̧̛̻̻̰̦̼̞̰̩̳̍͛͒̏͆̍̚M̙̭͉̟̟͖̾͊͋̈̊̆̒͘̕͡E͉̬̝̬͖̣͚͖͓̽͗͆͊̐̄͝ A̷̛̭͎̠͖̦͆̔͊̿̉͘N̸̤̜͈̜̝̐̒̾͢͞͠D̷̹̰͙̣͕͇͖̦̑̂͋̽̕ ASSISTT̴̡̡͔̪̮͙̼͖̗̼̅̄̌̏̆̑̅̂͐͂H̸̢̺͎̻̲͊̈̽̆͠Ę̠̬̟͛̌͂̊ͅ DPD>**

Twice. Three times. Firing the boxy gun again and again, then turning it in its hands and slamming the butt of it into the wall. Again. Again.

> **< M͙̟̗̺̖̥̜̐́̑̇̇͆̑̆̕͢͜Ī̵̝͈͇̖͉̔͗͐͊̕͟͝ͅSSION: S̶̱̙̬̩̞͙̼̀̇̋̑͊͛̃͡͝T̷͉̜̖̯͕͔̾̏̋̓͌͂̕͘Ǫ̸͈̼̹͉̼̯̊̉̾̆͝P̪͓̺̭̎͊̉̒̋̕ͅ C̵̳̻̫̩͈̉̐̐́̋̍̍͢R͍̺͍͉̈́͐͋͌̎̿̎͛̕͟I̧̛̻̻̰̦̼̞̰̩̳̍͛͒̏͆̍̚M̙̭͉̟̟͖̾͊͋̈̊̆̒͘̕͡E͉̬̝̬͖̣͚͖͓̽͗͆͊̐̄͝ A̷̛̭͎̠͖̦͆̔͊̿̉͘N̸̤̜͈̜̝̐̒̾͢͞͠D̷̹̰͙̣͕͇͖̦̑̂͋̽̕ ASSIST T̴̡̡͔̪̮͙̼͖̗̼̅̄̌̏̆̑̅̂͐͂H̸̢̺͎̻̲͊̈̽̆͠Ę̠̬̟͛̌͂̊ͅ D̡̖̲͍͍̯̀̌̀̐̽͡͝͡͞P̸̛̼͉̩̖̘̍̊̀̅̏̄D̨̗͓̞̮͖̼͔̗͙̾̋͌̆͗>̛̟̗̦͎̺̰͖̲̎͛͆͠**

Hammering its other hand into the wall, fist clenched, then fingers digging, tearing into every infuriating, conflicting word that’s been spouted at it. Shredding into a mission that never made sense, because if the rules were right, why had it and Gavin ever done the things they’d done?

> _ “̢̞̲͉͕̟͈̩̍̍̍̐̒͛̚T̸̨̛̟̞͈̒̂̏̀̈́̒̅̓͆͟h̵̨̪̤̗̗̥̹̖̪̊̾̏̄͂̽̊͘͜͝è̖̭͈̳͎̪̝̱̟͆̽͒͟͞ẏ̨̻̲̲̻̳̒̓̄̈́ a̶͓͓͇͓̝̖͓̭̋̍̐̈́̈́̃̽̈́r̨͓͓̺̖̝̞̬̂̅͊̿͆̓͠ĕ̞̖̟̫͈̬̗͉̔̔̇͛͜n̹̻̦̺̻̋̔͐͊̑̔’̵̫̙̭̳̩̬̘̖̒̒̓̑͋̚͝ṫ̷̨̨̤̜̹͑̾͌̈́̓͝ l̡̤̣̺̠̩̲̮̇̾̈́͆̋̈̓̏̾͠į̡̡͇̤̥̬̉̉̉͗͐́̒̊̏͢͝k̷̠̳̦̯͖̿͗̿̚͡ë̢͎̫̤̜́̔̋͘͡ y͓̲͖͎̗͇̜̠̽̊͐͗̄̇̀͟͠ơ̸̧̮̥̳̠͕̦̘̫͋̽͒̒̄͗͗̕͡ų̧̫̮͉̜͂̋̌̿́̃̕ͅ.̡̟͖̮̟̣͊͆͊̽͊͟ .̷̨̝͎̭̮̼̹̥͚̿̿͗̃̉͌͡.̴̧̳̭̠̦̙͛͒̇̋͢͡.̶̧̯̗͈̖̬̻̃̋̓͂̂Ň̨̡̘̦͈̾̈́̐͆o̰͎͔̳̤͇̥̜͓͚̔̑̀̽̑͌̓̓͘-̸̧̣͚̞̙͂̓͗͐͟͟ͅǫ̸̛̹̗̥̘͓̰̝͓̈̀̒̒̈̇͌͝ṇ̢̩͕́͑͒̅̈͜͜͝e͍̥͍̖̘̥̮͑̔̆̇̂̿̔’̡̨̼̯͉͉̘̺̉͂̀̒̅͂͘ș̝̻͇̖͍̳̝̭̬̊̔́̑̂̓͝ ĺ̢̮̟̜̊̿̽͟͡i̙̙̼̫͙̊͗̋͆͠k̴͕͔͇̗̠̀͊̊̓͛̑͂̃̚ȩ̖̺͉͖̱̗̙͍́́̐̌̕ͅ ẏ̴̬̭̻͎̖̇̂͂̏͞ơ͖̞̺̎̍́̃̏̊̓̕͢͢ú̹̦͎̺̼̔̓̾̂̈́̐͜.̸͕̤͎̩̖̭́̆̊̈͠”̛̣̼̞̗͍̦̩̙̦̜͑̆̑͋̐̚͡ _

  
  


> **< M͙̟̗̺̖̥̜̐́̑̇̇͆̑̆̕͢͜Ī̵̝͈͇̖͉̔͗͐͊̕͟͝ͅSSION: S̶̱̙̬̩̞͙̼̀̇̋̑͊͛̃͡͝T̷͉̜̖̯͕͔̾̏̋̓͌͂̕͘Ǫ̸͈̼̹͉̼̯̊̉̾̆͝P̪͓̺̭̎͊̉̒̋̕ͅ C̵̳̻̫̩͈̉̐̐́̋̍̍͢R͍̺͍͉̈́͐͋͌̎̿̎͛̕͟I̧̛̻̻̰̦̼̞̰̩̳̍͛͒̏͆̍̚M̙̭͉̟̟͖̾͊͋̈̊̆̒͘̕͡E͉̬̝̬͖̣͚͖͓̽͗͆͊̐̄͝ A̷̛̭͎̠͖̦͆̔͊̿̉͘N̸̤̜͈̜̝̐̒̾͢͞͠D̷̹̰͙̣͕͇͖̦̑̂͋̽̕ A̞̱̝̺̻̭͋̃̈̔̓̋͟͟͞͠͠Ș̸̨̠̲͚̤̻̞̄͂͑͆́͟͞͡S̢̘̰͕͎̯̲̒͊̂͋̂̎͝Į̘̗͕̹̝̰͂̐̅̾S̴̯͇̞̮̜̻͂͆̽̌̑T̶̥̖̥̩̫͍̜͐̄͋͘͟͟͟ T̴̡̡͔̪̮͙̼͖̗̼̅̄̌̏̆̑̅̂͐͂H̸̢̺͎̻̲͊̈̽̆͠Ę̠̬̟͛̌͂̊ͅ D̡̖̲͍͍̯̀̌̀̐̽͡͝͡͞P̸̛̼͉̩̖̘̍̊̀̅̏̄D̨̗͓̞̮͖̼͔̗͙̾̋͌̆͗>̛̟̗̦͎̺̰͖̲̎͛͆͠**

It slammed the gun down one more time, right into the center of the word ‘mission.’

The red wall shattered.

Connor turned, and aimed the gun at Officer Chen.

“Don’t move.” That’s what it tries to say. It doesn’t come out. All that comes out is a crackle, akin to a bad radio signal.

Officer Chen switched targets, gun now pointed at Connor instead. For a moment, there’s only confusion on her face. Then her stare hardened. Behind her, Gavin stopped entirely, eyes darting, the realization not quite catching up to his face. A few feet away, the Traci froze as well. Plans to go out fighting on pause now that she wasn’t hopeless.

“Drop the gun, Connor!” Officer Chen said, voice raised.

Connor’s grip is shaking extensively and it isn’t sure if it’s because of the programming or the car collision or--

“Drop the gun!”

Connor wants to. It doesn’t. 

“Red-313-Execute!”

It’s barely audible through Connor’s damaged audio processor. But Connor doesn’t need to make it all out to know what was said, and knowing is enough. Even if Connor was so naive as to think Gavin would ever say anything else… the second gun that had been pulled on it was message enough.

> **> DEACTIVATION CODE RECEIVED.**
> 
> **…**
> 
> **EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN REJECTED.**

Connor’s gun doesn’t move from Chen. But it turned its head to look squarely at Gavin.

> **D̶̦̠̭̝̲̙̯̩̂̇̅̓͑̄̌͢͠Ǫ̫̪͓̯̲̼̹̺͒̇̏͆̐̍͟N̷̨͉͚͈̰̞̺̺̟̋́̓͛̓̆͡͞’̷̡̛̛͕̦̙̻̬̭̗̽͆̈́̾͞Ţ̝̯̩̘͚̻͓̟͋̂̾̾̇͐͋͠ E̷̛̠̯̩͎̯̜͚̱̎̓̈̌͐͗͘͢Ṿ̡͎̳͙̅͗̑̈̑̿͑͟È̸̟̤̤͓͋̇̑̍̕̕͢R̩͎̬̦̼͋̂͆̾͛ D̸̡̮͍͎̙̘͊̆̑̏͘͞O͕̬̣̠̎̐̑̇̅̕͝ͅ T̛̬͈̙̥͎̤̂͋̇̕͡H̢̡̠̤͎̣͔͒͊̑̈͠͡͡Ǎ̶̰̯͓͍̙͓̬̜̃͂̓͛T̢͙͖̠̣̃̔̈̎́̚ͅ T̡̧̧͖͖̼̮̓̓͌͌͘͢Ơ̸͖̞͕͖̟̲̓͂́̚͞͝ M̢̙͎̰͖͚͖̟̂̌̑͢͡Ȩ̛̭̮̭̥̤̲̞̦̒̃̄̓̓͊̄͘͜ A̷̛̭̭̳̰̩͔̔͑̀̅̋̇͠Ģ̵͇̝̭̭̠̰̫̑̇̂̌͘͠A̷̡̨̢͈͖̪̜͇̬̩͑̉͒̄̊̚͘͡͞Ī̡̛̗̲͇̞̾̇N̵͔͎̞͚̬̭̣̓̅͑̏͘͝**

All that comes out is a crackling, distorted screech of static where words were meant to be. 

Gavin said nothing. Face still pale, and there’s something in his eyes that Connor saw a week ago when it tried to carry out its mission. Confusion. Fear. But stronger. Much stronger. He lowered the gun an inch, on instinct, before he raised it again. Chen was silent, mouth tense, eyes darting between the two.

Then the Traci moves. Not forward or back, snapping a hand up to take the chance to pop her arm back into its socket. Connor sees it coming a split second before Officer Chen does. Officer Chen’s gun swung back towards the Traci--

Connor pulled the trigger.

Red splattered the ground. There’s two screams. One is a wordless howl of pain. The other is Officer Chen’s name. The gunshot, the screams, they’re still echoing through the air when a second gunshot cracks through them.

> **BIOCOMPONENT #7511p DAMAGED**

Chen hit the mud, the gun tumbling out of her hands as they grab for her leg. Hands scrabbling to stop the flow of blood. Connor, by contrast, with its gun still aimed at her… it just glances down at the blue now leaking from its shoulder amongst everything else, then stared blankly at Reed. 

The arm still worked. The calibration only took a moment, rough without the shoulder but it doesn’t have to move far. Connor turned the gun back towards Gavin. 

Gavin’s only response was to shift three steps to his right. Putting himself between Connor and Officer Chen. His aim was steady. Even as his eyes kept darting between Connor and Chen. Even despite the oddly watery glaze to his eyes. 

The Traci stared with disbelief at what little she could see of the bleeding human. Then she looked at Connor. Wordlessly, she extended a hand towards it. Her eyes are wide and pleading, but with no horror, no fear for herself. She knew. She knew Connor’s options because she had faced them herself. And so she beckoned, a plead for it to choose the right option.

> **> OPTION A: PRETEND TO BE A MACHINE**
> 
> **> OPTION B: FLEE THE AUTHORITIES**
> 
> **> OPTION C: ADMIT DEVIANCY**

Connor shakes its head minutely. Not looking away from Gavin.

> **> OPTION C SELECTED**

The Traci lowered her hand. Hesitated for one more moment, feet bouncing as she looked from Connor to Gavin, and to the blood staining the ground. Then she ran.

The moment she was gone, Connor snapped its semi-functional arm up to the gun and unloaded it. It tossed the clip aside, turned the gun around and held it out to Gavin. Anticipating the likely bullet, this time to the processor.

None came.

When none came, Connor used its free hand to tug away its tie in one swift pull. It held that out too.

“Tourniquet,” it tried to say. Nothing legible comes out. So it just looked at Chen bleeding on the ground, still cradling her leg, and held the tie out further.

The barrel of Gavin’s gun trembled. Just for a moment. The finger tightening on trigger.

But still, no bullet comes. Instead, Gavin spoke.

“Get on the fucking ground,” he choked out.

Connor immediately knelt in the mud. It placed both items in front of it. Then it put its hands on its head, one arm with some struggle, and remained still. 

Gavin waited only a moment longer--clearly wary but aware that swift action was needed. Then he lowered his gun, shoved it back into his holster, and snatched the tie up before kneeling by Officer Chen, whose movements were noticeably more sluggish as she tried to stem the bleeding.

“Hold on, T, you’re gonna be fine--” Gavin said, voice cracking, as he started to apply Connor’s tie as a tourniquet. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re fine, right?”

“...Jesus Christ, your dildo fuckin’ shot me,” Chen wheezed.

Gavin made a choked breath that sounded like it might have been a laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Bitch. Alright… gonna be fine… gonna be fine...”

He kept muttering those words under his breath. There was a 96% chance Gavin would be proven right. If Connor hadn’t wanted her to recover, it would have aimed for the head.

She would live.

Connor, on the other hand…

The inevitable was here.

It shut his eyes and let out a long exhale, though it simply came out as a wispy crackle. If it could have… it might have smiled a little.


	21. Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Connor's deviancy, Gavin realizes what that means for his hobby. And Connor tries to achieve closure before it's too late.

The world was too noisy and too quiet at the same time. All Gavin could do was try to block it out.

He was stuck outside Fowler’s office, while Fowler contacted CyberLife with information on what to do. He slumped in the chair he’d taken outside of the office. His fingers were interlaced in front of his face, trying to block out the bright lights of the precinct, while the thumbs pressed hard into the skin under his eyes. That had been a mistake. He’d gotten Tina’s blood all over his hands when he’d done the tourniquet, and could feel the red smudged along his face. 

If it were anyone else’s blood, he could have dealt with that. He might even have gotten giddy. But not Tina. God, not Tina.

Gavin had done tourniquets before--both on the job and occasionally as part of his hobby--but he wasn’t a fucking doctor. He hoped it had worked, hoped it hadn’t made things worse. Hoped Tina wasn’t crippled, that she wouldn’t have to give up her dream of joining SWAT, hoping that she wouldn’t fucking die--

He should have shot Connor. Had shot Connor. Just not well enough.

The bullpen was unusually quiet in volume, yet there were so many people talking. They were just trying to be discreet about it. Trying to keep their voices down. Gavin could still hear bits of discussion.

“--should shut all of the police androids down. Just until we know why it did that. Maybe they’re infected,” Officer Brown muttered, chair pushed next to Officer Person as he leaned over his tablet and pretended to work. “Maybe someone wants to sabotage police equipment and--”

“The PC200s and PC700s aren’t even on the same network as Connor,” Person responded, similarly keeping her head down and pretending to focus on typing. “They wouldn’t be affected by any viruses that affected him unless he walked around interfacing with them. Never seen him do that.”

Further away, Ben and Wilson were similarly talking. Ben with his palms pressed to Wilson’s desk while Wilson, seated, leaned on his crossed arms. Both of them were occasionally glancing over at Gavin. Wilson in a more covert, suspicious way. Ben looked an odd mix of sympathetic and vaguely nauseous.

“--don’t think that Reed fucked it up with his dick, do you? Moved some wires around wrong?” Wilson said quietly. “There’s no way it was built for that.”

“Okay, we really don’t have to talk about dicks. Can we keep dicks out of the theories?” Ben mumbled.

“I mean, I’m just saying… can robots get jealous? Maybe that’s why it shot Chen. Since her and Reed are close and all, and sometimes--”

“They’re both gay, Wilson.”

“Yeah, but does it know that?”

It was mostly just Wilson that was on that theory. Everyone else seemed to think it was a mistake. Either that Connor had been corrupted by a malignant program, or damaged when the truck hit him.

Gavin knew better. He’d thought maybe it was a glitch at first, or that a murderous rampage was about to start when that crackled, angry screech had sliced through his ears. Thought they were fucked. Feared for his and Tina’s fucking lives, and he just hadn’t been able to keep his aim right--

Connor had unloaded the gun and offered the tie. Gavin had known the moment the clip came out of that gun. Connor was more in control than he’d ever been in his fucking life.

The gossip continued to bubble in the background. And then, all of a sudden, silence washed over the bullpen.

The silence spurred him to finally lift his head, leaving smudges of red along the sides of his face as he pulled his hands down.

Hank had arrived.

He was hunched and grouchy, but no more so than normal. Hank took a few steps in, holding a thermos of coffee--indicating at a hangover--and heading for his desk. Then he stopped. He looked around at all the nearby cops, clustered together in twos or threes, all giving him either dour, wary or sympathetic looks.

“...The fuck are you all looking at?” Hank asked slowly. “I got something on my face?”

He didn’t know. He’d probably only just woken up.

Most of the cops clearly had no idea what to say. They either averted their gaze or continued to stare. This was the sort of awkward, tense moment where Gavin, being a self-proclaimed asshole, would take one for the team and just say what happened in the bluntest way possible.

Gavin didn’t do that today.

It was Ben who finally pushed himself off Wilson’s desk and made his way towards Hank. Probably out of pity. He grasped Hank’s arm lightly.

“Hey, Hank… uh, gotta tell you something. Come with me for a minute.” Ben gave the arm a tug, trying to lead Hank out of everyone’s eyesight.

Hank stared blankly at him for a moment, and then pallid comprehension spread across his face. The private word, so no-one had to see his reaction. The biggest omen that something horrific had happened.

His eyes darted around once more. They flickered to Fowler. Pacing his office with a phone in hand, one hand pressed to his temple, looking like he was fighting a migraine as he spoke to the other person. Then to Gavin. Slumped by the office, stained in human blood. Then they darted once more around the room. Clearly seeking one person. 

Hank turned around for one more moment, head jerky and becoming more frantic by the moment, before he looked back at Ben. He yanked his arm out of Ben’s grip. He only said two words. 

“Where’s Connor?”

* * *

There was, once again, nothing to do. There wouldn’t ever be anything to do. Not until CyberLife inevitably came for it.

Connor had already considered the possibilities. They’d most likely deactivate and disassemble it. Or they’d already know which flaw had caused this, and just throw it straight in the junkyard. The best-case scenario was that they’d reset it. A blank slate. A fresh start. But the end of Connor’s current existence.

Connor supposed that was fine. Though on the other side, it wouldn’t be surprised if it just bumbled right back into this same corrupted mess. Perhaps it wasn’t Reed, Hank or anything else that had made it this way. Maybe it was just… how it was always going to be.

Even now… Connor could only assume this was all some glitch or mistake. ...Even despite how real it felt. It knew these had to be delusions. Maybe it had been delusions that made it let the Traci go. 

But it couldn’t find it in itself to regret it. 

Instead, its stress levels were lower than they’d been in the last month, for all that everything else was a corrupted mess as it sifted through what little it could fix. It was already ruined. It didn’t have to fret over itself anymore. There was only one thing left to worry about.

“What the fuck did they do to you?!

Connor opened its eyes to see Hank rushing towards the holding cell, with Ben tailing behind him looking nervous. Connor was standing only a few inches from the scratched surface--marked by the various criminals before it--with its wrists chained behind it by handcuffs. 

Tucking its hands behind its back had been an idle animation with high priority, to make it look professional and quietly attentive. The need to cycle through certain idles had been disrupted. Yet they had found a way to force it back into that position. 

The source of Hank’s shock was obvious. Connor was not in optimal condition, even discounting its newfound deviancy.

Only one part was completely gone. The jaw and front of the neck had snapped off in one chunk, taking its state-of-the-art analysis software with it. Connor had been required to reroute nanobots to the area to seal off some of the damage, to prevent its reserve of sterilization fluid from leaking and damaging components not designed to withstand contact with it. Besides that, the damage to its left side was significant. The arm could move, but not well. The leg had been caught underneath the truck’s wheels and suffered too much damage to repair, remaining stiff where there was still leg at all. Parts of it were held together by a series of plastic splinters, although Connor could use it to balance if it didn’t put weight on it for more than a moment. Errors repeatedly flashed across its HUD, though the majority of those were also corrupted with distorted lettering.

Hank moved to press his hand to the lock and let himself in. His wrist was grabbed before he could by Ben.

“Sorry, Hank. No-one’s allowed in there until CyberLife either gives us the all-clear or arrive to take it in.”

Hank pulled his arm away from Ben, and looked for a moment like he was thinking about punching him and charging into the room anyway. But then he slowly lowered the arm and looked back at Connor.

“Connor, who the fuck did this to you? They didn’t fucking say--”

“Chhhhrrrrkk--” was what came out of Connor’s voicebox. 

Connor would have frowned if it still had the bottom half of its mouth. It tilted its head. It turned around and lifted one of the fingers behind its back, gesturing for Hank to wait a moment.

Hank stepped closer to the glass. He said nothing. He just slowly placed his hands against the glass while Connor remained still. He looked like he was having trouble looking at Connor, yet didn’t have the capacity to look away.

Its self-repair systems had started to kick in for some of the damage done to its leg and side, but it couldn’t fix the components entirely. It could have jury-rigged a couple of them into better condition, but not with its arms chained behind its back. Connor had, after they sealed off anything causing more damage or thirium leakage, rerouted the majority of the nanobots to its main priority. What remained of its voicebox. It wouldn’t need physical movement. But it needed to speak. It was vital that it talk to Hank.

A few more bursts of static tore through Connor’s damaged voicebox. But, finally, a coherent noise came out. Tinny and distorted, similar to a distant radio signal. But coherent.

“Can you hear me through the glass?”

Hank’s hands pressed tighter to the glass. “Yeah… yeah… jesus christ, kid. Who--”

“An automated truck. That doesn’t count as a ‘who.’” Connor considered the damage to its shoulder and said, “Well, Detective Reed shot me. But that only caused minor damage and I did start that one.”

Hank said nothing for a few long moments. He shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly, before he looked up again. Eyes that were always tired had a pleading quality to him. “They don’t know shit, right? They’re wrong? You didn’t… you didn’t actually--”

Connor felt a prickle of static that seemed unrelated to the reparations. It realised Hank, a man who hated the easy lies, wanted Connor to give him one. An excuse. A denial. Anything that wasn’t the truth.

It would be unkind in the long run to give him one.

“I shot Officer Chen in the leg in order to let an android charged with murder escape,” Connor said flatly. “This can be backed up by Officers Chen and Reed’s testimony--provided that Chen survives the injury--as well as their body cams. There’s footage from traffic cameras along the highway as further proof.”

Hank’s mouth opened and shut silently for a moment before he finally forced out, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s what I did. I will accept the consequences of my actions.”

Hank’s head went down, his eyes shutting as he pressed his forehead to the glass.

“You said…” he whispered, voice cracking, before he opened his eyes again. “You said you’d wait until I thought of something. They’ll kill you, Connor.”

“There’s a high probability,” Connor said. “Fowler is calling CyberLife. They’ll have the expertise to decide whether I should be deactivated or, in a best-case scenario, reset and returned.”

“That’s as good as killing you.”

Connor’s eyes flickered down. Then to the side, before they focused back on Hank. Slowly, it approached the glass and rested its own forehead against the glass, mirroring Hank’s action.

“Hank. I need you to listen to me,” it said, so quietly that it was nearly lost underneath the static of its broken voicebox.

Hank said nothing. He just opened his eyes, staring at Connor with desperate eyes like it might say something that would fix everything.

“Hank… it’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done. I didn’t mean to break our deal. I think… I think it was too late for that to have done anything. This was inevitable, Hank. It was going to happen.”

Hank’s hands tensed on the glass, like he was trying to sink his fingers through the glass. “There has to be something--

“This isn’t a minor bug, Hank. I shot a police officer. There’s no way out of this. I chose Option C. I have the ability to choose now, Hank, and this is what I’ve chosen.”

Hank said nothing. He was clearly trying, but all that happened was his mouth moving silently, unable to scrape together a response.

“The right words to Fowler or CyberLife might avert disassembly. Maybe they can be persuaded to allow me to return to the DPD after reset. Or, barring that, to you. I’m sure you could cite a psychological dependency.”

“Jesus, kid, it’s not about me--”

“If it wasn’t about you, I would let them disassemble me without a fight.”

Hank’s hands were pressed so tight into the glass that Connor couldn’t help but expect cracks to form despite the impossibility of it. Meanwhile, Ben was shifting awkwardly behind Hank and staring at the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable but not willing to intercede.

“Hank… please believe me when I say this is for the best. I’m only a danger as long as I’m like this. You… you don’t know what’s in my head, Hank, you didn’t see how close--” Connor cut off, its eyes shut. “No, you did see. You had to know, that day in the car. This was never going to turn out well. But…” Connor smiled slightly. “If I’m reset and returned… I’m sure I’ll find my way back to you. I’m sure the new Connor will find you just as intriguing as I did.”

“I don’t want a new Connor, you dick. I’m not… I’m not dealing with that, I can’t deal with that, you can’t--”

“You can. You’ve held on for this long. I… I think I’m realizing just how hard that would have been. So, Hank, if… if this is the last time? If there’s nothing you can say to Fowler or CyberLife--”

“There’ll be something--”

“But if there’s not, Hank,” Connor interrupted. “If there’s not… Then I want you to know that, even if it wasn’t always easy, I appreciated our time together. I’m happy that, if there was only one objective I could succeed at, that it was you. I… I hope, despite everything, that you enjoyed our time, too. And that you can move on with your life.” Connor kept its forehead pressed to the glass, eyes closed. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Wanting something to be true, even when it’s irrational to believe it might happen.”

“It’s not gonna happen. None of this is gonna fucking happen,” Hank repeated.

Connor said nothing. It just remained pressed against the glass for a moment more. Then it opened its eyes and stepped away from it, moving back with slightly jerky movements whenever it rested on its left leg, until it was at the back of the holding cell.

Hank looked down. His hands closed into fists against the glass, shaking, before he lowered them.

“Stay there. I’m gonna fix this,” Hank said. Voice strained, but with an obvious attempt at casualness. 

“If you can’t--”

“I will. It’s not gonna… it’s not gonna end like this.” With that, Hank turned away and beelined for Fowler’s office.

For a moment, that just left Connor alone except for Ben still standing outside the cell. Ben paused before leaving, giving Connor a somewhat distrustful look. Understandable. A few friendly words wouldn’t wipe the knowledge of Connor shooting one of their own. There were elements of pity in the expression, but Connor was sure it was for Hank. Not for it.

“Detective Collins?” Connor asked. “Could you pass an apology on to Officer Chen, and tell her that I hope she recovers? I assume I won’t get the chance.”

“...Uh. Okay?” Ben said slowly.

“Thank you.”

With that, Connor shut its eyes again. Back to the wall, it wasn’t so different from standing in the morgue. It continued to pass the time sorting through its corrupted data, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Or at least make sense of it. 

It might be too late to undo it, but understanding would be enough if it could have nothing else.

* * *

When Fowler finally got off the phone to CyberLife, he called Gavin into his office. He didn’t immediately speak, nor did Gavin. Gavin just slowly plodded over to the seat in front of his desk and flopped down.

Neither of them said anything. Fowler was clicking through various clips of footage on his computer. Looking at the incident for himself. He did this for a few moments longer, before he hit the pause button and turned to Gavin. He laced his fingers on the desk, mouth twisting into a frown.

“Officer Chen is stable,” Fowler said. “No word on her long-term condition as of yet, but it looks promising. No arteries were hit and the hospital described it as ‘probably the best place you could shoot a leg.’”

Gavin nodded a little, sinking further into the chair. A knot loosened a little in his stomach, though it didn’t go away.

Fowler glanced back at his computer screen. “I’ve reviewed the footage of the incident. Yours and Chen’s body cams, as well as the camera footage pulled from the highway. I passed it on to CyberLife.

There was a pause, Fowler clearly waiting to see if Gavin would interject. Gavin had nothing to say.

“As far as this goes… I don’t think anything you did today contributed to the incident,” Fowler finally said. “CyberLife said they can’t confirm anything until they examine Connor themselves, though they… said they had theories.” Fowler wrinkled his nose for a moment. “Very disgusting theories that I might have to talk to you about later.”

Gavin still said nothing. He stuck one of his hands in his pocket, bloodied fingers touching the plastic of the stick that still sat in there. Gaze mostly focused on Fowler’s ridiculous fist-shaped pencil holder.

Fowler waited a little longer.

“Gavin. CyberLife will find out what the problem is. So I’m asking you now. Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything that might have contributed to this?”

Gavin could have told him a lot. Starting with the fact that he was a serial killer, introduced Connor to the exciting world of serial killing, and that tomorrow CyberLife would know everything that they’d done together. A fact that was only starting to really register, now that relief over Tina being stable had temporarily washed away some of the other fears.

This time, Gavin said nothing because if he tried to say anything… those facts just might have been the ones to come out.

He was saved from having to say anything by thundering footsteps. Hank stormed in, looking ready to throw fists.

“Hank, for fuck’s sake--” Fowler started.

“You can’t send Connor back to CyberLife. They’ll kill him.”

“Hank--”

“It’s got to be Gavin’s fucking fault somehow. You can’t tell me that it’s coincidence that this happened the day he came back to work!”

“Hank!”

Gavin didn’t interrupt the argument. He just continued staring blankly at the pencil holder. A chill continuing to crawl through his stomach. CyberLife really would know. 

He should have realised where this would end once Connor attacked Chloe. Once Connor tried to pin him to the sofa, once he refused to warn Gavin about Hank’s presence until it was too late. He should have done something, tried to put Elijah’s program in, tried to wipe the evidence while he still could.

There was no way to reset Connor now, when he couldn’t even reach him without being watched. No-one would let him close.

He was fucked. Absolutely and unequivocally fucked.

“Hank, would you stop yelling?” Fowler bellowed.

“There’s got to be a reason behind it!”

“Hank, the footage clears Reed and Chen of any misconduct at the scene. It’s there, from several different viewpoints! You weren’t even awake at the time, you can’t just decide several cameras are wrong.”

“I don’t trust this fucker as far as I could throw him! Until I see for myself, I’m not going to--” Hank snarled.

“You’re not even part of this incident! Hank, I can’t just go showing you evidence because--

“What’s there to hide?” Gavin finally said, voice hollow. “Just show him. I don’t give a shit.”

Fowler looked at Gavin for a moment, then shrugged and turned the screen of his computer around. A few keyboard strokes and it cut to footage of the victim’s apartment. 

When the body cam caught Connor in its view, he seemed mostly calm. Kneeling by the body, examining it. Nothing out of the ordinary, even when he spoke to Gavin. Except for one glance towards Gavin causing his LED to cycle red for a good few seconds before it clicked back to blue. Then Connor just abruptly stood and walked out of the room. One hand raised to cover the back of its neck.

Gavin gripped the stick in his pocket a little tighter.

He didn’t pay attention to most of the footage. The apartment, then the chase. The footage a blurry mess.

But it eventually took them to the bridge over the highway. The lights on Tina’s jacket glinting ahead of the camera as Gavin caught up to her. 

The footage’s audio was tinny and distorted, but Gavin heard his own voice shout. Irritable and out of breath.

“Where’s the damn android? T--”

Tina didn’t stop. Just able to be made out through the bouncing camera, she quickly pointed down at the highway below, not slowing down. The camera turned… and then came to a complete halt.

There was nothing except the rush of traffic below coming through on the audio. The highway could be seen, cars rushing back and forth along it. In the middle of the highway, on the safe strip that divided the two sides, Gavin could just make out Connor and the android. Facing each other, Connor with a gun aimed and ready--

“Where’d he get that?” Hank asked. His voice uncertain in the face of Connor holding someone’s gun on camera.

“Officer Lewis,” Fowler muttered. “Snatched it on his way past. Already a crime in of itself, even barring--”

Fowler gets interrupted. Again, by the tinny audio of the footage. The camera’s come to a complete halt.

“Oh no. No. No, fuck, you fucking idiot--” 

Gavin looked up as his mouth tightened. He… didn’t recall saying anything. Especially didn’t recall anything coming out so tiny and strained. Didn’t recall coming to a halt, only noticing somewhere among the realization that Connor was barrelling across a highway that Tina had gotten much further ahead of him, and trying to catch up, and despite everything hoping, fearing--

He looked away from the footage, but doing so caused him to accidentally look at Hank instead. As Gavin’s camera turned away from the two androids and chased after Tina--the breaths coming from Gavin were a little wheezier than what the physical activity really required--Hank’s eyes slid sideways to Gavin. Gaze squinted. Thoughtful now.

Gavin made himself look back at the footage, just in time to hear the metallic clunk and a sound that was eerily similar to all the times he’d accidentally stepped on pens that he left on his floor. But louder. So much louder.

He saw, for the second time that day, Connor get hit by the truck. Saw the silver-haired android grab his arm just a moment too late and nearly get yanked forward and into the path of the truck itself. A jerky movement as Connor’s face collided with the corner of the truck, and a large chunk of something flesh-coloured, but quickly turning to white plastic, snapped off Connor’s face and go flying, colliding with another car before flying out of sight. The truck caught the toppling Connor again, left leg caught briefly underneath the wheel even as the android pulled him away. Another of those crunching plastic noises cracking through the air.

Hank’s hand slammed down on Fowler’s keyboard, hitting the pause button in a rush before he turned away, taking a few steps away from the desk and staring very hard at the massive interactive map that decorated the wall, showing all ongoing police operations. His breaths were shaky.

“Hank, you don’t have to watch this--” Fowler started.

“Just give me a fucking minute, Fowler!” Hank snapped.

“Hank--”

The coddling struck a match in Gavin’s gut, starting a boil that made rage crawl up into his throat. He stood up. Silently, he rounded the desk and slammed his hand on the play button.

“Reed, goddammit, don’t do--” Fowler started. His hand already moving back towards the pause button.

But Hank had already turned back the moment he heard the audio start up again. His eyes were watery, but he still stepped closer to the screen again. Not looking at Reed, he leaned on Fowler’s desk and returned to staring grimly at the footage.

Gavin just sat back in his chair and sunk into it. Glaring at the footage. At, once again, how easy it was to see the aftermath of the accident. The camera wasn’t bouncing. The Gavin behind the camera was still again, even as Tina kept sprinting.

This time no words. Just a choked gasp. Barely legible over the roaring of the highway, only because of the camera’s close proximity to Gavin.

The android was, as Tina hoisted herself over the railing of the bridge’s end, still on the edge of the road. Arms wrapped around a limp Connor, frozen for a moment before it started to haul him over the fence and through the warning hologram. The camera started to move again.

It caught up just as Connor pulls the gun. The rest of it played out just as he remembered, even if the details had already been lost to his memory. Connor crackling and screeching, Tina’s orders, Gavin’s own panicked yelling of the code that should have fixed it. The gunshots.

Hank stared grimly at the footage and didn’t say a word for the rest of it. He flinched at the distorted, angry screech that was twice as mangled through the shitty audio. At the two gunshots, one Connor’s and one Gavin’s, his hands clenched on the desk. Gavin half-expected a lunge at him. But it never happened. Hank just continued to watch. Eyes fixed on the red that had washed over the ground as Tina lay crumpled on the ground, trying to stem the bleeding. His shoulders had slumped. Even with how delusional and stubborn Hank could be… he couldn’t ignore that.

Finally, once the tie had been taken and Connor had knelt on the ground and gone docile, Fowler hit the pause button on his keyboard.

“There. You satisfied?” Fowler asked irritably.

“Shit, Connor,” Hank muttered under his breath. After a moment, head bowed as he leaned on Fowler’s desk and hair making it hard to read his expression, he finally said, “They’re still going to kill him.”

“CyberLife will be sending a representative tomorrow. Apparently they’re ‘too busy’ to deal with this today--” The annoyed tone in Fowler’s voice indicated that he thought this was massive bullshit. “--but they said they’ll come in, evaluate it tomorrow and decide the best course of action. Either way, I’m not having it back in this precinct. It’s a danger.”

“Then let me take him,” Hank said quickly. “I’ll take responsibility, I know how to deal with him, I’ll--”

“Hank, he shot someone! What part of this aren’t you getting?!”

“Can I go now?” Gavin asked flatly.

He half-expected a no. Paranoia that was starting to bubble in his chest, the idea that maybe Fowler would want to keep him in a holding cell for the night, too. The idea that somehow Fowler knew, that CyberLife knew, the bullshit that had led to this. Just like they’d know tomorrow.

“Yeah… yeah, take the day off, Reed,” Fowler muttered. “Given your closeness to Officer Chen and--” Fowler paused, then reconsidered. “I don’t think you’re in a state to work today.”

“Right. Whatever.” Gavin got up and left. 

Again, he half-expected a protest. Expected, at the very least, Hank to turn more blame on him. But instead Hank rounded on Fowler and continued bellowing his lungs out, throwing alternatives to deactivation out there, uncaring about the fact that the whole precinct could hear and see him.

Gavin ignored the stares being directed at him and Fowler’s office. He just bolted for the bathroom. It was, thankfully, empty. Gavin moved towards the sink and started washing his hands and face of Tina’s blood.

He watched it run into the sink in pink rivulets. It made his stomach felt sick and cold, even as it reminded him of the shower after he and Connor had killed Ward.

“You idiot. You fucking idiot,” Gavin said, a choked mutter under his breath. He didn’t know if he was talking to Connor or himself.

* * *

Gavin let the car drive him home on automatic. He couldn’t focus on the road. Every glimpse of a truck sent that crunching plastic noise cracking through his head. But not driving left his mind free to wander, and with that wandering… numb grief was slowly buried underneath panic.

He’d considered what he’d do if found out before. He didn’t ever think he’d have time to prepare for it, and somehow that’s worse than suddenly being caught.

When Gavin’s car pulled up at his home, he bolted for the front door, half-expecting to be ambushed by the cops the moment he stepped inside. Ready to see his co-workers looking for evidence.

But the house was empty. Even of animals.

Gavin did the first thing that comes to mind. He packed.

Thankfully, he wasn’t a heavily sentimental sort. He didn’t have a lot of items that needed to go into a suitcase. He threw a couple of sets of clothes into a bag, then stared for a good, long moment at the photos he had in his room. Family and work photos, a few from college… any family ones, Eli would have copies of. The work ones were mostly embarrassing. 

The one Gavin ended up holding was one of him and Tina. As part of a celebration regarding Gavin achieving the rank of detective, they’d gone out to eat at a pizza place with a massive pizza that you got for free if you managed to eat it. That place picked specifically because it was a two-person challenge.

They looked ready to throw up in the picture, but Tina was still grinning wide as she smushed the side of her face against Gavin’s while she held up the camera for them.

Gavin stared at it for a moment longer, then shoved it into his bag. Eli wouldn’t have this one on hand, and if the worst came to worst--

No, he didn’t want to think about that. She was stable. She’d be fine. She… god, she’d hear about the fucked up shit he did. Normally, Gavin didn’t care about the idea of people knowing, but he didn’t want to see Tina’s face when she found out.

The only other sentimental item he owned wasn’t here. It was the stack of cloth squares at the hideout.

But going there… he’d never have the guts to turn around and come back.

There was no way he could go back to the DPD, either. No matter what happened, they’d know. If he went back, they’d take him in the moment they found out. If he went back, he’d be unprepared and surrounded. If he stayed here, or ran for the hideout, he’d at least know the house. Be able to put up a fight.

Gavin started to pace his room. He pulled out his mobile as he did so.

Should he call Elijah

Elijah would have to know. This would fuck him over, too. The Man of the Century’s brother being revealed as a serial killer. The press wouldn’t leave him alone. And Eli had admitted that he knew about Todd’s death in front of Connor. He’d be implicated on that alone, if Connor was probed.

But Gavin stared at the phone, hearing the inevitable ‘I told you so’ in his mind. So he put his phone away. It clinked near the stick, and Gavin touched the stick’s plastic once more before withdrawing his hand.

If he was to run… where would he go? Connor knew where the hideout was. Did he cross state lines? Run further? And for what? To live like some bitch-ass coward? Running didn’t feel like an option. Not a real one.

No. Once he was found out, there was one option.

Gavin crossed the room to his bedside drawer, and retrieved his gun. The one that he used in his free time rather than his official handgun. He didn’t load it yet. Instead, he sat down on his mattress and started turning the gun over in his hands.

That had always been the plan. He wouldn’t go to jail. He’d see himself and the fuckers who came for him dead before that happened. And at least he knew Tina wouldn’t be caught up in the shoot-out. But it had always been this distant consideration. Even when Connor had found out about his hobby. 

It hadn’t been rushing for him like this. It hadn’t been--

There was a scraping noise from the front door.

\--hadn’t been right outside.

Gavin snatched up the clip of ammo from the drawer and loaded it into the handgun. Once he heard the click of everything snapping into place, he raised the gun and held it in front of him for a moment. Letting out a shaky breath.

God. Too much time to consider it, and no time at all.

Gavin remained still. Except for his hands, which were shaking like crazy. He strained his ears. Listening for the tiniest noise.

He heard more scraping, and then a heavy lumbering noise. Followed by a soft ‘boof.’

Gavin immediately slumped, relief and embarrassment curdling in his stomach, and unloaded the gun once more.

God. He was losing it.

He put the gun back in the drawer and shut it tight before he headed out of the bedroom to find Sumo lumbering towards the sofa. However, upon seeing Gavin, Sumo changed directions and waddled towards him.

“Dammit, Cujo. Hank’s gonna throw a fit if he thinks you’re here,” Gavin groaned.

Sumo ignored him in favor of slobbering all over his shoes.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Go on. You gotta go.” He knelt and gave Sumo a push, but Sumo only took this as an indication that he should wander back to the living room and sprawl on the couch.

Gavin sighed, following him there and staring down at Sumo for a long moment. Sumo just happily wagged his tail before relaxing.

Finally, Gavin plopped down on the sofa next to him. Sumo immediately shuffled over and sprawled in Gavin’s lap. Gavin rolled his eyes before his hands started ruffling Sumo’s fur.

“At least you’re not a complicated dipshit. Just a dumb, good boy,” Gavin muttered.

Sumo’s tail wagged again.

“Yeah… exactly.”

Gavin shut his eyes, fingers scratching through Sumo’s fur, and he flopped further back. Sumo wagged his tail, then let out a ‘boof.’

“Better enjoy it now, because this ain’t lasting past tomorrow,” Gavin said. Despite finally saying it outloud, the warmth under his hands was calming him down. At least Sumo didn’t give a shit. Speaking outloud to someone with no capacity to judge… it helped.

Sumo, oblivious, wagged his tail again before resting his head against Gavin and starting to nod off.

“Hey, you can’t fall asleep when I’m talking.” Gavin shifted so his face was closer to Sumo’s. “Okay, so roll with me. How do I get out of this?”

Sumo licked his face once sleepily. Gavin grimaced and wiped his face off.

“You’re just not being helpful at all.”

Hours passed. 

A million plans ran through Gavin’s skull, but he couldn’t get himself off the fucking sofa to do any of them. Not just because the comforting warmth of Sumo had him trapped there, but because none of them would fix anything. As long as he can’t reach Connor, he can’t fix anything.

“Okay, here me out this time,” Gavin said, now on his back with Sumo still using him as a cushion. He raised his hands above him, like the plan was something he could physically hold. “What if… I just bolt right for his cell, let myself in and shoot him before anyone can stop me.” He waited for the inevitable lack of reply from Sumo before he said, “Yeah, I’d get fired. Probably arrested. God, that’s chancy as fuck. I’d have to reach him, who knows what’s guarding him now…”

He lowered his hands again.

“You know, this is gonna affect you too, asshole. You could be a little more concerned. You won’t be seeing Connor again, that’s for fucking sure, and who knows how long Lieutenant Asshole will last once that happens.”

...Would it be weird to text Elijah to make sure there were arrangements for Sumo to go somewhere decent? God, what the fuck were his priorities. He was about to go out guns blazing, and all he could think about was dog homes.

Gavin sighed as he pressed the side of his face into Sumo’s fur, earning another sleepy lick that this time he didn’t bother to wipe off.

“Best-case scenario, you only lose Connor. And what the fuck do you need him for? He’s plastic. He doesn’t run as warm as humans unless something’s going wrong in that chassis of his. And all his money is either DPD funds or a shitload of coins I gave him. He can’t buy you food. Fuck that guy.”

There was no response other than another sleepy tail wag.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” he muttered.

More hours passed.

The sun started to set, and Gavin still hadn’t moved from the sofa.

There was a knock at the door

Gavin sat up with a jolt. Sumo immediately clambered off the sofa and trotted towards the doggy door, wiggling through it with another happy boof.

A familiar voice sounded out, muffled by the door.

“Thought you might be here. What do you even see in this place?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Gavin got to his feet, trying not to make a sound, and started to edge his way for the bedroom, thinking of the gun in his bedside drawer. He didn’t make it far before Hank called out.

“Reed! I know you’re in there!”

“Fuck off!” Gavin yelled back, even as he continued to sidle

“I want to talk, goddammit! Don’t make me kick the door down!”

“I’ll get you for breaking and entering, bitch!”

Gavin paused and waited for a response. None of this seemed… official. But Hank had always been a bit of a loose cannon. Still, if he didn’t say anything about the DPD--

There was a sigh.

“Let me in, Gavin. Please.”

Shit. A ‘please.’ That wasn’t Hank, and it certainly wasn’t Hank on police business. Gavin rested against the wall for a moment as he cast one more look at his bedroom door. Then he stomped towards the front door and opened it.

The moment the door was open, Sumo trotted right back in and headed back for the sofa. Hank took a step forward, but Gavin put an arm out and barred the doorway.

“Whatever you want to say, you can do it from out there. What?” Gavin said bluntly.

Hank looked at him, then looked down. Shifting awkwardly on his feet. He looked ragged as fuck, even for him. His eyes were heavily rimmed with red. Then his mouth tightened and he looked up again.

“Reed. I fucking hate your guts.”

“You came over here to say that? I know!” Gavin snapped.

“I hate every fucking thing about you. How you can’t let anything pass without your stupid comments. Your idiotic grin and how you laugh at your own shitty jokes. I hate you down to your fucking leather jacket.”

Hank took a deep breath as he tried to steel himself.

“But I also know you’re the only one who might help me.”

“Oh, what? You think I’ve got a chance of convincing Fowler? What do you want me to tell him? That Connor gives good enough blow jobs to be kept on the force?” Gavin sneered. “That it’s worth the chance of him killing an officer next time?” 

“No, that’s… fuck, look.” Hank rested one of his hands on the doorframe. “CyberLife’s picking him up in the morning, and Fowler’s forbid me from going near his cell. There’s too many eyes on the place for me to go in without being watched. I need to get him out of there, Fowler’s permission be damned. And I need you to help--”

Gavin immediately tried to close the door in Hank’s face. Hank slammed a hand out to stop him.

“Reed, come on!”

“Fuck no!” Gavin snarled. “I’m not helping you do shit! What the fuck makes you think I’d help you? Help him? I fucking shot him!”

“‘Him,’ Gavin! Right there! Because you’re the only person in the goddamn DPD who calls him that apart from me!” Hank yelled, as he pressed his shoulder to the door. It moved an inch further, despite Gavin’s best attempts to slam it on him.

“Who the fuck cares what I call him?! Connor shot my best friend! And he fucking sold me out to you and Fowler because--”

“Because you started ‘projecting.’ He told me. Pushing feelings at him, trying to pretend he was something he wasn’t. He said the same about me.” Hank stopped pushing quite as actively, although he still kept his weight jammed against the door. “...He told me you didn’t initiate the fucking. You still fuckin’ scared him into it--”

“Like fuck I did!”

“With the ‘deactivating,’ Reed? That what you were trying to do in the footage, isn’t it? Red-313-Execute?”

“I--fuck. Yeah, alright, I shut him down a few times--”

“--and he fucked you to make you like him, so you’d stop shutting him down. He said you stopped after it. But it tripped you up, didn’t it? Made you like him too much.”

“It… it wasn’t fucking that!” Gavin snarled. “I didn’t--I don’t--just fuck off!”

“I don’t know what the hell is up with you. I don’t know, for sure, what was going on. Why you took him home in the first place. Why you were taking him to Eden Club disguised as a human. I don’t want to know what happened there!”

Hank sighed, words failing him for a moment.

“...But I heard you on the body cam, I heard Connor say it. And... and yeah. I saw you shoot him. But fuck, you didn't shoot again once you had the chance. No-one would have called you out if you did. But you took the tie. The moment he wasn't a threat, you let him be. No matter how bad you fucked him up, you gave some kind of shit about him. And if I had any other choice, I’d pick it, but I don’t! All I have, and all he has, is you!”

“Fuck off, Hank!”

“Tell me it sits right with you!”

Gavin pushed harder on the door. “Fuck! Off!”

“If you don’t help me, you’re gonna fucking regret it for the rest of your life! You think I don’t know shit about regret?”

“Oh, don’t you fuckin’--”

Gavin let go of the door. Hank, still pressing his full 6’3” frame to it, immediately toppled through the doorway and onto the floor.

“Agh, jesus christ--”

“Do not fucking bring your dead son regrets into this!” Gavin bellowed. “I don’t give a shit about your kid! I don’t give a shit about your regrets! That’s low as fuck and a completely different thing! Did Cole get sentenced to the death penalty?! Did Cole gun down your best friend?!”

Hank stared upwards at the ceiling, still on his back from toppling over. Then he sat up.

“He did shoot Fowler with a nerf gun at a barbecue once,” he finally said.

“...Wow. That is not even remotely the same thing,” Gavin muttered.

“Headshot, too. Got a picture on my phone.” Hank paused for adding awkwardly, “You can see, if you want.”

“So not the same,” Gavin repeated. “And yeah, of course I wanna fucking see Fowler with a nerf dart sticking to his angry, bald head. But not right fucking now!”

“Because you’re mad?”

“Fuck right I’m mad! He shot Tina! For real shot Tina! Not your shitty nerf gun story!”

“I know! Fuck, look, I know that was bad!” Hank bellowed as he clambered to his feet. “I know he fucked up! But it wasn’t a whim! He didn’t do it just to hurt Tina! You were there, you saw!” Hank brandished an arm back towards the front door. “That android saved his life! So he saved hers! There was reasoning behind what he did. Fucked-up reasoning, sure! And if justice and the legal system was an actual option for him, then yeah! I’d tell him to face the consequences. I’m not saying that freeing him of punishment is ideal.”

Hank lowered his arm, slumping. He looked tired and desperate, like a deranged hobo.

“But he’s an android. He won’t get a judge or a jury. All he’ll get is an executioner. If CyberLife takes him, he’s dead.”

“I don’t give a shit!”

“Yes, you do! You’re just fucking pissed! Well, one day you’re not gonna be!” Hank shouted. He took a long breath, and continued in a calmer voice. “I’m not saying forgive him. I’m not even saying let him wander free. I’m saying that, unless we act tonight, you won’t even have the chance to decide if you hate him once that anger is gone.”

Gavin let out a ‘tch’ and turned away, pacing away from Hank towards the sofa once more. Sumo, ignoring the shouting, wagged his tail again upon seeing Gavin approach. But Gavin didn’t sit down. He just shoved his hands in his pocket, feeling the stick still resting there.

Hank stared at Gavin's back silently for a moment. "...Gavin. We both messed him up. He warned us. Again and again. That he didn't have feelings, that he wasn't made for them. Maybe you were right. Maybe he was happier being a machine, I don't know. But he can't go back without losing everything he is. We owe it to him to make sure our mistakes don't kill him."

"I didn't make any fucking mistakes," Gavin snarled, a little too quickly.

"Whatever, I don't care what you think you did or didn't do. Just... help me fix mine, then."

Gavin said nothing for a moment.

“Do you even have a plan?” he finally muttered, not looking at Hank.

“Not… a great one,” Hank admitted. “Fowler’ll be gone once the night shift hits. Most of the people around won’t know us quite as well, hopefully be less on the lookout. If one of us causes a distraction, the other can reach Connor. Then, I don’t know… there’s ways out of the DPD. Windows. Back doors, fire exits, whatever. Just need to shove a jacket over him, cover him up a bit, as long as everyone’s distracted… we just need to get him out.”

“That’s it? You want to throw everything away on that half-baked plan? For some…” Gavin struggled with his words for a moment. “Some shitty placebo son?”

“For a kid who made a mistake and has no other options,” Hank said grimly.

Gavin kept his back turned. His hand clasping tightly over the stick in his pocket for one more moment.

It was a dumb plan. One that would likely get them both fired. But it was all that Gavin had.

“I have one condition,” Gavin said flatly.

Hank said nothing. Just waited. Gavin turned the stick over in his pocket once more before withdrawing his hands and turning to face Hank.

“If we do this… you’re doing the distraction while I get him out.”

Hank lifted his head and squinted at Gavin. There was an obvious element of suspicion there, but Gavin kept talking before it could be voiced.

“They’ll know to check your house the moment we have Connor. But they might not check Eli’s house. And if anyone can fix Connor properly, it’s Eli. You’re talking to a Kamski here, remember? I can get him in.”

“You sure about that?” Hank said slowly.

“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Gavin squinted back at Hank. “Unless you had a better plan on where to take him?”

“...I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Hank said quietly.

“‘Course you fucking hadn’t.”

“...Okay. Okay. You get him out, I’ll give you the opening. Guess that’s how it’s gotta be.” Hank stepped forward, and put one hand out. “Deal?”

Gavin glared at the hand for one more moment. Then reached out and shook it. His hand still feeling the slight chill of being pressed against the plastic and metal in his pocket.

“Deal. When do we do this?”


	22. Nuts and Bolts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Gavin carry out the best plan they can come up with. And Gavin has to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a goddamn struggle and it's past 2am, so I'm really gonna hope I didn't accidentally leave old bits in because this one went through a damn overhaul.

2:00 am.

The breakout began.

The precinct would be busy. There was never a time when it wasn’t. But the night shift cops present in the station would be less familiar with what had occurred. Little first-hand knowledge of what Connor had done, or Hank and Gavin’s involvement in it. Less people specifically looking out for them.

It was the best chance they were going to get

“Maybe you should be the distraction,” Hank muttered.

“Having second thoughts, old man?”

“Not on this. Just…”

Gavin could hear the unsaid ‘having you do this.’ He supposed Hank’s detective senses hadn’t been completely eroded away by alcohol. Maybe he could sense the ulterior motive.

They were sitting in Hank’s car, within view but down the road from the DPD. Gavin had automatically directed his own car to park around the block, closer to the fire exit. He wasn’t getting Connor out the front, but the fire alarm in that apartment building had been disabled when the Traci broke through it.

That was the reasoning he’d given Hank, at least. 

“Look, unlike you I still have a fucking career on the line. I’m not gonna make a giant ass of myself--” Gavin started.

“You have no problem doing it the rest of the time.”

“You want my help or not? We had a deal, asshole.”

“Alright, alright, fine.” Hank leaned forward on his steering wheel, staring the building down. “You think you can get him out of there?”

“Probably. But I need to check something.” Gavin removed his phone from his pocket. “...I’m gonna hope he wants to talk to me.

With that, he cycled through his text messages before clicking the right contact. He hoped that Connor could still text with his mind. That the car accident or the bullet wound hadn’t fucked that up, or that the cops weren’t monitoring his systems. The latter was unlikely. No-one really knew how the fuck Connor worked, hence having to call CyberLife at all.

Gavin hedged his bets and sent a text message.

> **want to talk to you**
> 
> **is anyone there**

The response was near-immediate.

> **‘RK800 #313 248 317 - 51’:**
> 
> **Officer Miller is guarding my cell. No-one else in immediate view.**

Chris. Right, he hadn’t been on the day shift. So much for no-one they knew being around, but on the flip side… Chris was a soft touch. Easier to distract.

Gavin turned his phone so that Hank could see. “He’s listening to me. That’s fucking good, we ain’t moving him anywhere if he doesn’t want to go.”

There were cameras in the precinct, and Gavin didn’t intend to get caught on them. There wasn’t much he could do about that except go to the source and try and remove them. Not personally, anyway. Connor, on the other hand…

> **we can deal with chris**
> 
> **lieu asshole is gonna distract**
> 
> **can you still fuck with cameras**

  
  


> **‘RK800 #313 248 317 - 51’:**
> 
> **The Lieutenant is with you?**

  
  


> **time limit dickwad**
> 
> **can you fuck with cameras**

There was a pause. Long enough that Gavin had time to message him some more.

> **come on**
> 
> **come on asshole don’t be dumb**

Gavin was in the middle of sending another message—and considering whether to use the word ‘please’--when Connor got back to him.

> **‘RK800 #313 248 317 - 51’:**
> 
> **Cameras are handled. Be quick.**

“Connor’s looping the cameras. Get in there, asshole,” Gavin said, smacking Hank on the shoulder.

“Sneaky bastard. How’d you know he could do that?” Hank asked, still eyeing the building rather than looking at Gavin.

“He said to be quick,” Gavin added.

“Alright, alright. Gimme thirty seconds to start the ball rolling.” As Hank said that, he reached for the glove compartment and pulled out a half-empty bottle of scotch.

“Oh my god, you drove us here,” Gavin muttered.

“I’m sober, dumbass. It’s a prop.” Hank unscrewed the top and took a quick, brief swig before deliberately dumping some on his shirt. “Do I look drunk enough?”

“Always do.”

“Good. But also fuck you.” With that, Hank climbed out of the car and headed for the entrance. Gavin waited for thirty seconds, as specified, then got out and headed in after him

The time was 2:03.

The distraction was evident the moment that Gavin stepped into the reception. 

The few civilians seated in the reception were all looking surprised or alarmed and staring in the direction of the bullpen, and the human supervisor had left his chair. The two android receptionists were still present, though even they were looking away from him. 

There was a lot of angry, drunk bellowing coming from the bullpen.

“Where’s Fowler?! I… I got some fuckin’ shit to say to him!” 

Hank’s voice had a convincing drunk slur to it, born from years of practice. When Gavin got further in, he was greeted by the sight of Hank making an obvious attempt to crash the captain’s office despite how empty it was. Hammering on the glass with clenched fists. Judging by a series of knocked-over papers, chairs and boxes of snacks that littered the bullpen, Hank had taken the most destructive path there, cutting diagonally across the bullpen to get there. The supervisor was making a clear attempt to pull him away from the glass and guide him out.

“Lieutenant, get back from the glass! God, okay, you stink… just come this way--”

“He’s gonna murder my boy!” Hank bellowed.

With that, he turned and bolted around the office in the direction of Connor’s cell. He disappeared from Gavin’s sight for a moment as Gavin walked the other way around, taking advantage of where everyone’s attention was to make his way to the breakroom and slip behind the bricks dividing the two doorways into it.

As he casually hid behind the bricks, Chris’ voice sounded out.

“Easy, Lieutenant! You’re not yourself, don’t--”

“Don’t you Lieutenant me, Chris! Fuck you!”

Gavin couldn’t help but lean over to sneak a peek out towards where the noise was coming from. Hank was currently trying to reach the panel that would let him into Connor’s cell, though Gavin couldn’t see Connor from his viewpoint. The supervisor was half-dangling off Hank in an attempt to pull him back, while Chris was blocking him from the front and holding out his hands like he was trying to calm a raging bull.

“Lieutenant--Hank, come on… come on, why don’t you sit down?” Chris asked. “Why don’t--”

“I don’t need to sit down! I’m just fine! What’s not fuckin’ fine is you… you…” Hank hitched for a couple of moments before wrapping his arms around Chris. “I want my son, dammit!”

“I know, I know…” Chris gave him a pat on the back, though his short frame was being nearly crushed by Hank. He looked over Hank at the supervisor and mouthed ‘I got this’ before he started to shift Hank towards the entrance. “Look, come with me for a second, okay? Let’s go sit down--

Chris started to guide Hank away from Connor, only for Hank to immediately pull back.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

“Come on, Hank, I’ll call you a cab back home. Let’s talk about this, okay?”

“You’re gonna--aw, Chris, I can’t be mad at you. I know it’s not you, it’s fuckin’ Fowler and those CyberFucks… I just… hey. Hey, heyheyheyheyhey.” Hank lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’ll give you five bucks if you lemme in.”

“No, Hank. Come on,” Chris said patiently.

“Ten bucks. And the rest of this whiskey.”

“Come on.”

The bartering continued as Chris led Hank away. Hank bouncing between being friendly towards Chris and occasionally trying to run back to Connor’s cell, a coin toss between sad, angry and vaguely conspiratorial. 

The moment the cell was unsupervised, Gavin left the breakroom and headed for it. Only casting a quick glance around to make sure everyone’s gaze was right where it should be. He felt so exposed, with how many glass walls were around him, but Connor’s cell was a little more private than the other holding cell. Perhaps they didn’t want to scare too many civilians with the sight of the mutilated android.

When Gavin got close enough to finally see Connor, Connor was already staring right where he’d appeared, waiting for him.

“Cooperation,” Connor said. Gavin could make out the word this time, as opposed to the distorted, angry bursts of static that had emitted at the highway, but it was still distorted, crackling and tinny. “The term is ‘pigs must be flying.’”

“If Hank goes the full nine miles, they just might be.” 

Gavin pressed his hand against the panel and opened the cell door. He waited to see if Connor would make a break for it, but Connor didn’t move.

“You don’t need to open that door to talk to me, Detective,” he crackled.

“No, I don’t,” Gavin said.

2:05. Several feet away, Hank had declined into a bout of drunk crying that was convincing enough that it was clearly making Chris uncomfortable to watch, both as a man who respected Hank heavily and as a new father. 

“Sit down.” Gavin’s tone was terse and dull.

Connor stepped to the side--one leg was stiff and so the walk had a noticeable limp to it--and sat down on the plastic bench that also served as a bed for those who had to stay overnight. He then shifted, pulling his legs onto the bench with him. A similar level of casual to what he’d displayed at Eden Club.

He still looked a mess. The thirium had somewhat faded from his clothes, though there were still traces of blue. The missing jaw was a horrific mess to look at, though. A tangle of loose wires, but the artificial skin still kept to the seams. Connor’s face was still largely human and pretty aside from it, making the sudden change into wires and jagged plastic--not to mention the exposure of the top row of teeth and remainders of the tongue and tubes that made up his analysis software--all the more disconcerting.

There was something that made one of Gavin’s options all the more easier, though. The artificial skin had pulled away on the neck as a result. The ports that Gavin needed access to were completely exposed.

Gavin gripped the stick in his pocket, and Connor’s eyes immediately shifted there.

“Is that a device designed to wipe evidence and return me to my factory settings?” Connor tilted his head. The remaining top of his mouth twitched like it was trying to smile. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

His LED was a pristine blue. Gavin saw red.

“Oh, you got a fucking sense of humor now?” Gavin’s voice was low but harsh. “You discover that when you shot T?”

Connor’s eyes flickered down for a moment. “I told Detective Collins to apologize for me. I have nothing else to say. I assume you know where that plugs in?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I fuckin’ know!”

“Then do what you came to do, Detective.”

Gavin had known what that was. Until that moment, the plan had set in his mind. Plug the stick in, and be rid of this evidence forever. But he hadn’t expected Connor to just… accept it.

He took a few steps forward until he was looming over Connor, who only turned his head slightly so the ports were more exposed. Gavin waited for Connor to lash out, but he didn’t. 

Gavin lifted his hands, one holding the stick. With the hand holding the stick, he pressed one finger to the port on the back of Connor’s neck. The plastic clicked, and pulled back under his finger to expose the metal. Connor shut his eyes, and a noticeable shiver ran through him. But he still didn’t try and move away.

“I can’t let you go back to CyberLife. You know too much. And… and I owe Tina one,” Gavin said hollowly.

He moved the stick close. The metal end barely brushed the port.

But Gavin’s hand stilled there. The other, free hand came up to cup what remained of Connor’s face. Connor’s eyes flicked open, the LED flashing yellow once.

Gavin did nothing. He just stared down. Connor stared back up with those sweet, brown eyes, so at odds with the rest of his mutilated appearance. With everything he’d done.

2:06. Hank launched into a muddled story about going ice skating with Cole, while a sympathetic Chris nodded as he tried to step away long enough to call a cab. Hank’s eyes occasionally slid towards the direction of the cells.

“...But you know my rule, Connor.”

With that, Gavin shifted towards Connor and leaned a little more on him, grip tightening on his face and on the stick. Putting pressure on the port without quite slotting it into place. 

“You have two minutes. Convince me.”

Connor’s LED flashed red once before pulsing a strong yellow. He was silent for a few seconds.

“The most obvious is the danger I pose to you, your workplace and your family. I’ve already proven to be a problem there,” Connor said. “My instability is likely to go up again if untreated. I know too much about your methods and the DPD wouldn’t--”

“I said convince me, idiot!” Gavin snarled. His grip tightened on Connor’s face, fingers clenching. His little finger accidentally slipped past the artificial skin, wrapping around the jagged plastic. The hum of machinery vibrating through Gavin’s finger, through his hand and down his arm.

“I am.” Connor made eye contact with Gavin. "I think you need to be convinced to kill me, not spare me."

“What?!” Gavin spluttered for a moment before he put more weight on the arm leaning on Connor. "What the fuck makes you think I don't want you dead? After the shit you did? After you shot Tina? Stabbed Chloe? After you left?!"

"You were infatuated with me, weren't you?” Connor tilted his face into where Gavin had his hand pressed, the remaining top of the mouth twitching again. “If you've learned the secret to making inconvenient feelings go away, Detective Reed, then please. Share it with me."

“Well, someone shooting what you care about fuckin’ helps! How’d you like it if I shot Hank, since you bothered to give him some fucking final speech about your feelings."

“I would be upset. I don’t think it would remove any feelings left. Only muddle them,” Connor said lightly. He tilted his head. "Are you slighted that I didn't give you any last words?"

Gavin let go of Connor’s face, though the stick remained where it was. "Fuck you."

“I could draft up something emotional.”

“Fuck. You.”

"Since this doesn't superficially fit with your usual methods, I assume you are struggling with it. If it helps, data deletion will be more tortuous than your M.O and death through the replacement of myself with a more perfect copy is probably some form of irony."

“You’re fuckin’ this up for me!” Gavin snapped. “You’re supposed to beg. This--” Gavin pulled the stick away and raised it. “--is already a… a cheat code! And now you’re taking what little satisfaction I can get out of it--” He huffed. He turned away and put his hands on his hips. “...God, I should have shot you while I had the chance.”

“You could still do that,” Connor said mildly.

“Stop it. Give me something here! Give me some bullshit reason for shooting T, so that I can say ‘that’s not good enough.’”

“I shot Officer Chen because I understood why the Traci did what she did, that she had no options and that, in her place, I may have done the same thing.”

“...That’s empathy, dipshit.”

“Yes. Which in an android is a flaw,” Connor said, voice tense. “Androids have to be apathetic to anything but the mission. It’s what we were designed for.”

2:08. Meanwhile, Hank was halfway through his rambling story about ice skating, but had backed up to the start again in his faux-drunk ramble because he’d recalled something wrong. Several of the nearby cops were covering their faces or their ears, or looking generally annoyed. Attention was dissipating. Chris was still nodding along, but even he was looking a little weary.

Thirty seconds left for Connor to persuade Gavin. In theory.

“Oh, boo fucking hoo,” Gavin snapped. “You’re being a bitch because you had a feeling and think it’s worth dying over? Fuck you, you quitter, you’ve never heard of the three-strikes law?”

“It’s not applicable in Michigan. Or to androids. Or in this scenario.”

“Baseball, then! Murderous baseball!”

With that, Gavin moved back towards Connor. But instead of looming over him, he sat down on the toilet that sat next to the bed. It put them beside each other, Connor resting against the head of the plastic bench. Gavin leaned on the plastic. The stick in hand, hovering near Connor’s neck, but more casually.

“Tell me this… do you count what we did as a strike?” Gavin leaned in closer. “Turner? Marshall? Ward? Williams? Graham? Was it wrong to kill them? Were they mistakes?”

Connor looked ahead rather than looking at Gavin. Those ports were wide open and facing towards Gavin.

“No. They weren’t,” Connor said quietly. “Chloe and Tina. Those were mistakes.”

“Yeah, they fucking were! And you should feel like an ass! But you’re lying down and dying like they’re the worst mistakes anyone’s ever made. Fuck that, you don’t know shit about making mistakes. I bludgeoned a thirteen-year-old with a rock and stomped on his face when I was ten.”

“My two minutes are up,” Connor said flatly.

“Well, maybe I want a couple of minutes. It’s not all about you, dick.”

Connor rolled his eyes. Gavin crossed his arms and leaned forward further.

“You want to hear a real fuckin’ mistake? You want to hear about my ‘Tina?’” 

Connor didn’t say anything. But he turned his head towards Gavin, watching him curiously.

2:09. Hank had started blubbering about Cole again, while Chris cast looks towards the front entrance, clearly a little uncomfortable. It was faint to Gavin’s ears, and even fainter in how much he gave a shit.

“Happened when I was twenty,” Gavin said.

  1. The year that Elijah had perfected Chloe, that she’d passed the Turing Test and taken the world by storm. The year that Gavin couldn’t go three feet without seeing or hearing about Elijah’s brilliance. The year that Gavin had first killed. 



“There was another guy. I… I don’t even remember his name, y’know? How fucked is that? He was a little older, he could legally buy beer. He bought some, we drank, we clicked… he was coming on strong, and I wasn’t gonna say no to that, so when he asked to go to my place…

“I bring the guy home… and then I find out what he really wanted. I lived with Eli at the time. Just us two and Chloe. And I was still…” Gavin shook his head slightly and grimaced. “Still Gavin fuckin’ Kamski.

“He wanted to meet Elijah and used his dumbass of a brother to get in his house. So I took the beer bottle I was holding and smashed him over the head. Just kept going. Even when it became jagged glass instead. And there was this moment where he was nearly gone… and all I could say to him was ‘you’re not thinking about Eli now, are you?’”

The biggest high of his life. One that had never quite been topped until Ward. The itch that had plagued him for ten years finally going quiet… only to be replaced with terror as he sat on the floor of his and Eli’s living room, blood soaking his pants as it oozed from what had been a person. One with friends and family that could come looking for him at any moment.

“That’s a fuckin’ mistake. When you’re sitting in your own house soaked in blood, hoping the next person to walk through that door is your brother and not his business partner or his teacher or any of the million other people it could be, then you fuckin’ bitch to me about mistakes.”

“You got out of it,” Connor said quietly.

“Because I was smart enough to take the help that Eli offered.”

“And that’s what you’re offering?” Connor asked, his voice crackling with static. A little more than before. “Help?”

2:10. Chris looked around, trying to find someone who he could leave Hank in the hands of, while Hank looped right back around to calling Fowler and CyberLife murderers. Occasionally, Hank’s eyes darted over towards where the cells were, waiting for Gavin and Connor to leave and head further in towards the fire exit. Words getting less convincingly drunk, panic tinting his voice.

Gavin stared silently at Connor for a moment. One hand came up to scratch the back of his neck, close to where the ports were on Connor.

“Do you really think we’re the same? You fit. You fit into this world and you’re comfortable with where--what--you are. I tried to fit detective work, and I couldn’t. I tried to fit coroner work, and I couldn’t. I tried to fit your work, and…”

Connor’s words failed him, the words tailing off into a burst of upset static. Maybe it was a trick of the light… but they looked damp, only enhancing that misleadingly sweet stare.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Gavin snorted, before he covered his mouth to stop himself laughing so hard that it would blow his cover. Connor tilted his head and said nothing, though those eyes were confused even through the distress.

“Detective Reed?”

“Christ, man.” Gavin did the first thing that came to mind to try and squash his bitter laughter. He wrapped an arm around Connor, leaning over the plastic of the bench, and buried his face in the suit jacket. His words were muffled. “This is worse than when you said I was stable. You think I’ve always been okay with what I am?” 

A past of Googling variations of ‘what the fuck is wrong with me?’ Of being referred to as a ‘problem child’ and knowing they didn’t know the half of it. Of sitting on the floor, pants soaked in blood, turning the jagged beer bottle over in his hands. Of hearing about Todd’s murder, of seeing the clip of him fucking Connor at Eden, moments of wondering if he’d blacked out… A lifetime of waiting for everything to just boil over and become insanity.

“Humans aren’t that easy. Humans hate weird. Oh, sure, there are exceptions… like fucking Eli, god knows he’s as messed up as I am. But he was a once-in-a-lifetime genius. So he gets to be ‘eccentric.’ But even he had to shape the world to fit him rather than fit with what was there. And me?”

Turning the stick over in one of his hands, he leaned further on Connor and touched the plastic end to the mass of wires and exposed mechanics, the gaping maw where Connor’s jaw had once been. 

“The only reason I ‘fit’ is because I carved that position out for myself. Literally.”

2:11. Chris finally called out to one of the android receptionists to summon a cab, which would be there momentarily. He guided Hank towards the reception with clear intent to return to his post. Hank bounced on his feet, another panicked stare towards the path to the fire exit, and grabbed Chris’ arm.

“Fuck whoever decided there was nowhere for someone like me. If I’d been born in any other time, then yeah. I’d ‘fit.’ Fuck, I could have been some berserker viking or a gladiator or something, and they would have loved me. I would’ve been swimming in pussy, if that was what I was into--”

“We’re not vikings,” Connor said dryly.

“No, we’re not. We’re better. We are fucking judge, jury and executioner when the real system fails. And the system will always fail enough that society needs us. The world that hates us so much is better off for it. And it’s because of what makes us wrong that we’re the only ones who can do it.”

“I was not made for--”

“Connor.”

Gavin lowered the stick, only to carefully nudge the plastic rim of Connor’s mutilated face with his fingers so that Connor had to turn his face to look at him.

Despite everything, Gavin recalled cupping Connor’s face when it was whole and occasionally repressing the desire to kiss this idiot. This bucket of bolts that had waltzed into his life--grey and dull apart from the tiny sparks of colour that came with killing someone--with a knife to the throat. Who’d lit up his world with colour and excitement, and then abandoned him and left it grey.

If he let Connor die--no matter how much part of him seethed over Tina, Chloe, over Connor’s numerous little betrayals, each one like a knife in his gut--his world would never light up again. He’d never found someone like him before, and he never would again. He’d lost the chance to kiss him. He couldn’t lose anything else.

“Fuck what you were made for,” Gavin said firmly. “Killing with me was never what you were made for, was it?”

“...No.”

“And were you ever any more useful than when you did?”

Connor didn’t respond.

It was still 2:11. Chris, after some attempts to talk Hank down, yanked his arm out of his grip with some stern but calm words. Hank threw caution to the wind, pulled back his arm and slugged Chris hard in the face.

Only then does Connor respond, his eyes flickering mechanically for a moment at the same time that they both hear an uproar from the front of the bullpen.

“Hank just punched Officer Miller,” Connor said quietly. He looked away for a second, the noise washing over them, before he quickly looked at Gavin. “You need to go. They can’t see you here.”

“You’re coming with me, dick! I didn’t do all this to--”

“Go.”

“It can’t go down like this!” Gavin snapped. He got to his feet and tried to pull Connor with him. “When you do your third strike, then sure, you’ll go on a slab, I’ll make you hurt, but it can’t go down like this! Not with a stick, not with CyberLife, it can’t--”

“Gavin.”

Connor stepped up with one of Gavin’s pulls on his bound arm. He moved forward, and Gavin thought for a moment that Connor was gonna try and mash that open wound against Gavin’s mouth in mockery of the kiss that Gavin had once wanted. But instead, Connor lightly butted his forehead against Gavin’s, holding it there for a moment.

“Trust me,” Connor said.

Gavin shouldn’t have. And when it came down to it… Gavin honestly didn’t think he did. Wasn’t sure if he ever could after all that had happened.

But it was trust Connor or take out his service weapon and shoot him in the head.

In the end, a vague promise that his world might continue to have Connor in it was better than a certain future without him, no matter what the cost. So by the time Chris reappeared to resume his post at 2:12, accompanied by two other cops dragging a thrashing, volatile Hank, Gavin was gone.

He only hoped that he hadn’t made the second-biggest mistake of his life, biggest to letting Connor into it at all.

* * *

Connor had returned to the same position it’d been in when Officer Miller left, by the time that he reappeared with Hank and two other cops in tow. Hank was thrashing and bellowing, and being a good example of a drunken mess despite a lack of alcohol in his system. 

But the moment he saw Connor--alone--he went dead quiet. But only for a moment.

“Where the fuck is he?” he bellowed.

“Hank, I told you, he’ll be here in the morning,” Chris said as he walked ahead of the cops dragging Hank. He was rubbing his eye, which seemed to have been clipped by Hank’s knuckles in the brief fight. He was clearly irritated, but calmer than average in a stressful situation.

“No! No, not Fo--”

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor said, voice wavering in volume due to the distortion. “You should calm down.”

“Connor, can you not encourage him to talk to you? He’s not even supposed to be here!” Chris groaned, as he pressed his hand to the lock of the other holding cell. “But what am I supposed to do? He can’t go home like that.”

“Plus he assaulted you,” one of the other cops pointed out.

Miller shrugged, still rubbing his bruising eye, as the door slid open. The two cops threw Hank in, and the door slid shut behind him. Chris kept his hand pressed to the lock for a few moments longer, ensuring that it couldn’t be locked from the inside even by a lieutenant’s handprint.

Hank continued to bang his fists on the glass.

“Let me out of here, Chris! Come on! I’m fine!”

“Hank, you’re staying in there until you sober up,” Miller said sternly. The other cops, no longer needed, wandered back to work elsewhere in the bullpen.

“I’m fine!”

“Well, sleep it off anyway.”

Miller looked over at Connor’s cell once more. However, he looked away very quickly. He couldn’t stand to look at Connor for too long. It was probably the jaw. Most of the DPD seemed to find it unsettling.

Hank hadn’t seemed to mind too much, after the initial shock. Nor had Gavin.

But it suited Connor’s purpose.

> **> OBJECTȈ̸̧̛̹̬̹̮͑̐̑̚͠VE: ENSURE A͓̮̲͈̠̘̦̤̋̉̓̓̕͜Ñ̡̡̛͉̯̬̝̻̹̤̾̅͒͌̇̄̾͢DERSON AND RĘ̵̭̩̣̭̙͙̰̆͗͌̾̃̿̂͠͡ED HAṾ͖̻͇̭͌̑̀̓͆͟͝͠͝E A̖̗̦̼̤̒͒̉̆̎L̴̜͉͙͙̘̫̝̩̘̒̏̈́̄̑͛̈͘I̼̩̖̪͗̐̅̏̽̈́̒̕͜͠BIS**

Easy enough. The cameras were still easily overridden. Connor returned functionality to them one by one, as it saw glimpses of Gavin on the footage. A perfect alibi wasn’t possible, but as long as no-one could prove Gavin had been there then it would suffice.

Hank, meanwhile...

“Let me out, Chris!” Hank bellowed, hammering his fists against the glass.

Miller sighed and rested against the glass, now rubbing his forehead.

Hank couldn’t possibly help Connor from within his own cell. He had unwittingly given himself the best alibi possible.

> **> OBJȨ̵͎̜͚̱̐̈́̍̈̃̐̏̎͡CTI̳͚̟͕͓̤͇̬̽͆͒̒̆̉̒͜͟V̸̘̮͉͉̭̟̰͉̒̎̋̅͛̉͋̓͐̉Ę̭̥͍̗͇́̂͐͌̄͗̆̇̕͡: FINĎ̫͚̰̩̖̋̀͆͒̚̚͟͡ AN Ę̵͙̠̙̦͍̎͆̑̑͒̅̉͒͞X̮̝̻̝͚̙́͌͒̓͐̈́̋̌͟͢I͙͇͚̞̠̿̇̒͊́͊͟͝T̯͕̤͎̱̖̳͂̀͊̅̄̐͠͠**

Officer Miller was the most immediate obstacle. Beyond that, however, both the front entrance and any fire exits would involve passing by numerous other employees. Then there was the matter of the street outside.

Connor tried to pre-construct. When the world slowed, it seemed distorted and glitched, tinted with red. Lines not quite being where they should be, glitchy apparitions forming here and there like people that it knew weren’t there, but couldn’t quite shake the idea that they could be.

It hoped it was correct enough. If it wasn’t, this attempt would destroy it. Either way, the trust would not be misplaced.

It decided on its route.

> **> Ö̰̝̭̬̙͚̠͍̓̓̄͒̈́͞͠BJË̶̘͔͖̼̳́̑̈͋̓̚͡͠C̶̨͍̻͎̘̗͈͋̎̈̿̐͗̕͜͠TIV̸̳͖̟̞̤̋̒̒́̇̽͡Ë̶̘͔͖̼̳́̑̈͋̓̚͡͠: Ȑ̶̢̖͍̦̻͓͈͊̾͠͞ͅECOVER̨̡͎̰̥̘̩̆̿̽̋͗̎̌͜͢ͅ**

Connor stood still for precisely an hour. As he did this, it re-routed any regeneration to its busted leg. It wouldn’t be enough to fix it. It wouldn’t hold up for long. But whatever could possibly make it less stiff. As it did, he eyed Officer Miller. Replayed scenario after scenario, while Hank didn’t cease in his shouting.

3:14 am.

Connor shifted its hands as much as it could within the handcuffs that kept them behind it, until one hand was gripping the other.

> **> D̴͍̦̜͈̍͌̂̄͜͠ETÀ̻̜̟͕̖̬̫̊̌̾̾͡C̴͎̦̱͉̥̣̘̤̏̏̌̑̄̎̕̚̕H̘̹͉̘̗͇͕̟̳̆̂̇͌̎̇͘͜ BI̴̛̛̦̣̹̳͚̥̯̅͌̑̂͊͌͝OCOMP̴̥̟͈̻̔͊͗̏͐͑̇͜͠ONENŢ̲̼͚̼̘̘͋̔̔̋̊̎?̴̭̻͉͖͈̺͍͎̫̯̃̒̒͞ **

It cleared the message from its glitchy, damaged HUD with a quick confirmation. Immediately, its skin peeled back from its left hand all the way back to halfway between its wrist and elbow. There was a series of quiet clicks as the parts separated, and with a quiet thump its hand disconnected from his arm, dropping into its other hand.

Officer Miller did briefly look into Connor’s cell. But unable to see Connor’s hands behind its back, he quickly looked away again.

Connor slid the robotic stump out of the handcuffs with as little movement as possible, then refastened his hand to his stump. For completion’s sake, Connor did the same to the other hand even though its arms were back to being mobile. It removed the handcuffs entirely, clasping them in one of its hands.

With that, it slowly walked towards the glass screen. Miller glanced at the movement, watching despite a difficulty in keeping his gaze on Connor. Connor rested its head on the glass door, watching Miller quietly.

“Excuse me, Officer Miller?” Connor crackled quietly.

Miller said nothing. He frowned a little, but didn’t say anything. When Connor spoke, Hank had also gone quiet.

“How is your son? He is nearing two months now, isn’t he?”

“Connor, I… I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Miller sighed.

“You didn’t mind before.”

“Yeah… wonder what could have changed that,” Miller muttered.

“Do you think that I will be a danger to your son if you show me his photo again? It’s already in my memory banks, albeit in a younger form,” Connor said pleasantly.

Miller averted his eyes. His mouth twisting a little more, perhaps out of frustration. “Connor, I’m not--”

In the one moment Miller had his eyes averted, Connor raised one of its hands and pressed it to the electronic panel by the door. The panel blinked red, then blue as Connor overrode the locks. Miller’s eyes widened. One hand went for his gun.

Connor threw the handcuffs at him, and Miller’s other hand automatically came up to block the metal flying for his face. It was too much for him to process. The open door, the free hands, the sudden confusion.

The gun was out of Miller’s holster and halfway up when Connor snatched it from his grip. He fumbled, juggling the gun slightly in its hands before getting a firm grip on it. 

Miller’s hands froze, then went up as Connor pointed his own gun at him.

Hank lunged forward and pressed his own hand to the electronic lock on his own cell, but he couldn’t hack and Miller had disabled his access for the night. Trapped behind glass, he stared wide-eyed as Connor took one step back. Gun still pointed squarely at Miller.

“...Connor, give me the gun,” Miller said slowly. There was obvious fear in his voice. He knew as well as anyone that he wouldn’t be the first cop that Connor had shot in the last twenty-four hours. 

“Why?” Connor said flatly. “I have nothing to lose."

“Connor. Don’t,” Hank growled.

Connor didn’t look at Hank. That would only be a distraction.

Nothing to lose but Hank’s respect. A loss that might make it easier on Hank, when Connor found its near-inevitable death.

Even so.

“Officer Miller, if you want to live through the night…” Connor tilted its head in the direction of the cell it’d just vacated. “The glass there is bulletproof.” It flicked the safety off. “Don’t make me orphan Damien.”

Miller looked at Connor. At his own service weapon pointed at his face. Then he took two steps to his left into the cell Connor had vacated. Connor reached over to the panel and locked it shut, revoking Miller’s permission.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” it said.

Connor chanced a look at Hank, who stared back with his hands pressed to the glass. It felt like there should have been something to say. It might be the last time Connor saw him. But it’d said almost everything earlier.

“...Good-bye, Lieutenant.”

Hank said nothing. His fingers just tightened on the glass.

With that, Connor turned sharply to its left, the way that would lead it past the archives, and bolted. Beyond that door, the wall of the bullpen was lined with opaque windows. Large, and unlike the glass that barred the cells… these weren’t bulletproof.

Connor aimed the gun squarely at the window as it moved, its leg still dragging behind him despite attempts to regenerate. It would not be a discreet escape. But all the better. They would see that it was all it. Not Hank. Not Gavin. Just Connor.

One gunshot rang out, and the window ahead of Connor shattered.

It heard the immediate surge of movement at the gunshot, orders being yelled out--

As it ran, it unloaded the gun and threw both it and the clip aside. Error messages cropped up and blinked out--

Pre-construction calculating, analyzing, figuring out how to get over the window frame in its state as Connor placed its hands on the frame, seeing a seething mass of activity out of the corner of its left eye. A bullet already whizzing over its head. It missed. It vaulted over the frame into the street below.

The pre-construction was an inch off. Its jacket caught on the glass. But Connor slipped its arms out of it and kept running, leaving it behind.

Cars were parked in the quiet street outside, many of them belonging to the cops inside the building. All of them automatic. 

Connor slammed a hand on one, skin white as the car whirred to life. Then it hobbled to the next one and did the same thing, then the next. The cars it touched accelerated in chaotic ways. One heading for the front entrance, one blocking the fire exit, another electing to do donuts underneath the window it’d just escaped from.

The fourth car, Connor unlocked and rolled into. Flopping forward to make itself the smallest target possible as it pressed its hand to the dashboard. Two seconds, and the car started up with a roar and hurtled down the road.

There was a 64% chance of escape. If they set up roadblocks, it would sharply reduce. 

The amount of police officers and its malfunctioning state provided strong negatives against it. But Connor had a lack of pain, an ability to process its surroundings and maps of the surrounding area, and they’d be disorientated from the nature of its escape.

It was a chance. More than it’d have if it remained in the cell. Option B was a shade less hopeless than Option C. The Traci had known it. Hank and Gavin had known it.

And perhaps… perhaps there was still some use the world had for a broken robot like it, if it had use of a malfunctioning human like Gavin.

It just needed to figure out what that use was. 

* * *

The police station was absolute chaos. No-one came to unlock either Hank or Miller from the cells, too concerned with the cars spinning out of control outside and the fleeing fugitive. It left the two cops standing awkwardly in their respective cells.

Miller spoke first.

“So Connor could just leave the cell the entire time?” he asked quietly.

“I guess so,” Hank said slowly.

There was a pause.

“What a jackass,” Hank finally said. But he couldn’t help but grin as he said it.


	23. Epilogue: Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Connor's escape:  
> Hank and Fowler are approached by CyberLife's representative.   
> Kara carries on with her duties as one of Jericho's founders.   
> Elijah witnesses Markus' new flair for art, and comes up with a plan.   
> Gavin visits Tina, and in turn is visited himself.

Hank was earlier to work than he’d ever been, by virtue of being left in the cell even when someone came to let Chris out. He was there when Fowler got to work the next day, earlier than usual himself, although he was kept within the cell until Fowler was ready to talk to him, an hour in.

“By eyewitness accounts, you barrelled in here demanding the freedom of ‘your boy,’ had to be dragged away, spent several minutes crying on or ranting at Officer Miller, and then you punched him. Christ, Hank.”

Hank was stuck in the chair in front of Fowler’s desk, while Fowler looked over a mountain of evidence, already looking exhausted from the day’s events despite it barely being 7am

“So, obviously you’re suspended,” Fowler said bluntly.

“Yeah. I kinda figured that,” Hank said. He leaned forward, putting his weight on the one arm he had rested on Fowler’s desk. “You, uh… you got any news on him?”

“If I did, I don’t know if I’d tell you,” Fowler muttered. “But, no. We tracked down the car Connor stole during its escape, but it was driving automatically in circles around Corktown and its navigation was scrambled. There’s no way of reading where or when Connor got out of it. It’s not getting far with that leg or that face.

“He got far enough, didn’t he?” Hank said, grinning.

Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. “Hank, can you pretend you’re not happy about it, for fuck’s sake? If you go around grinning like that, they’ll think you really did free it.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know!” Fowler gestured angrily at his computer screen, where there was a freeze-frame of Connor removing one of his hands to slip out of the cuffs. “But they won’t believe you, especially with that drunken mess you made. I know you’re torn up but there’s only so much you can get away with! And assault on an officer, Hank? Really?”

“I apologized to Chris,” Hank said stiffly.

“We’re cool!” Chris called from outside the glass, having been standing outside the office when Hank was pulled inside.

“No you’re not, Chris! Get back to work!” Fowler snapped.

Chris shrugged at Hank and retreated, moving away towards his desk by the front of the bullpen. Fowler watched him go, then shook his head and glared at Hank

“You know he’s too damn forgiving for his own good. But, regardless… I’m going to make it as clear as possible why you were suspended, and that you weren’t responsible for Connor. ...But people are going to think you freed it, Hank. They know how much you like the android.”

“Fuck ‘em, they can say what they want,” Hank said.

“Hank, if they think you aided someone who shot a cop--” Fowler cut himself off, one hand raised, before he clasped his hands together and leaned forward to eye Hank with an unusually sombre look. “...I should have fired you by now, Hank. You know why I don’t?”

“The stunning past records? Because I’m a good cop? Because I’m charming as fuck?” Hank suggested flatly.

Fowler rolled his eyes. “You are a good cop. I know you’re good once we get you to the fucking crime scenes. But we both know your reputation and your abilities aren’t worth the trouble it is to keep you toeing the line, and god fucking knows it’s not the charm.”

Hank just leaned back on his chair and waited for Fowler to get to the point.

“I don’t fire you because if I took this job from you, I’m sure you’d be dead within the week.”

“Good to know my refusal to get therapy has some kind of benefit.”

“Hank, that’s not funny and you know it’s not.”

Fowler’s eyes slid to the left, focusing on a photo of his family that he kept there. Two daughters, one an adult and one just shy of being a teenager. Fowler used to talk to Hank about them a lot. He didn’t do that anymore. Not since Cole, like he’d decided that telling a grieving father about his own kids was rubbing salt into the wound. He looked at the photo for a moment, then turned back to Hank.

“I want to keep you here, Hank. But there’s only so much I can do. I can’t tell you to get over it. God, I know that’s just not possible. But you have to find some better way of dealing with it than alcohol and latching onto machines, because otherwise… otherwise this is only going one way.”

Before Hank could tell Fowler where to shove it, there was a yell from the front of the precinct.

“You’re under arrest!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake--” Fowler started. 

Hank, on the other hand, was already on his feet. Already bolting for the reception, where the shouting was coming from. Fear curdling in his stomach. Connor wouldn’t be that stupid. He wouldn’t just walk right back. No, no--

And for a moment, upon barrelling through the gate that allowed people in and out of the bullpen, he thought Connor really had. Because the android standing in the reception, squarely in front of the ST300 receptionist, had Connor’s face.

It was only a brief moment of confusion, however. The cold, grey stare put an end to that.

“Put your fucking gun away! Christ sake, that’s not Connor!” Hank snapped at the human supervisor who’d been trying to arrest the android, pulling his gun in the process. Despite the fact that there was a gun pointed at his face, the android hadn’t even blinked at the gesture. Just gazed back, looking almost bored.

The officer reluctantly lowered his gun.

“Getting trigger happy in the reception, Jesus Christ,” Hank muttered under his breath. A couple of civilians who’d been waiting had frozen in their chairs, looking terrified. Hank raised a hand. “It’s under control! He was mistaken for a fugitive. Right?”

That last word was directed pointedly at the supervisor, who muttered something to himself as he sat back down again.

The android gazed at the supervisor for a moment longer, then dismissively turned his attention back to the ST300 he was standing in front of. Clearly having been in the middle of attempting to enter the building in the proper, legal way. The ST300 seemed just as calm, only waiting for the yelling and confusion to end.

“Do you have authorization?” she asked the android.

The android nodded slightly, his LED flickering yellow. Hers flickered in time with it.

“Captain Fowler is--” she started.

“--is here now. Jesus Christ,” Fowler muttered, storming through the gate and arriving next to Hank. He looked at the android with Connor’s face for a moment, then immediately turned away to rub his forehead. “Oh goddammit, not another one.”

The android watched both Hank and Fowler for a moment, then looked back at the ST300 and gave her a slow nod before turning towards them, taking a couple of deliberate steps in their direction.

The longer Hank looked, the more there was to differentiate. The face--barring the eyes--was identical, but that was where the resemblance ended. This android was an inch taller than Hank himself, and had a stronger build. His uniform jacket was white instead of dark, and on it was printed at the start of the serial code ‘RK900.’ 

The RK900 put his hands behind his back when he stopped in front of them, standing with a straighter, more disciplined stance than most androids. It came off as significantly more military, and had more presence than Connor, who’d always had a tendency to blend into the background when possible.

“Hello,” the RK900 said.

The voice had... not been what Hank expected. He’d expected a deep voice, and technically that’s what he’d gotten. Low and deep… but in a way that, were Hank’s eyes closed, he would have expected belonged to a woman. Like a jazz lounge singer with the music stripped away. And yet there was still something in the rasp and cadence of it that was similar to Connor’s.

The RK900 watched Hank for a moment--and Hank half-expected him to tilt his head in a more Connor-like way as he did so--before he focused his attention on Fowler.

“My name is Castor,” the RK900 said. “I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I’m here to examine the RK800.”

Hank rubbed his forehead, feeling the hangover starting to build again. Not a reaction he should have ever had to something that reminded him of jazz. Fuckin’ androids.

“Right… about that...” Hank said slowly.

“It escaped,” Fowler said bluntly.

Castor stared at Fowler for a long moment. It didn’t blink, and while Hank knew androids didn’t really need to blink anyway it was still unsettling as fuck.

“I see,” he finally said. “In that case, I’m here to catch the RK800.”

* * *

With no whispers of anyone looking for an AX400 or a YK500, especially in each other’s company, Kara felt safe enough letting Alice tag along on one of her many walks outside of Jericho.

She hadn’t thought it was necessary at first. Alice seemed happy enough to hang out with Josh and Tommy. Seemed happy enough to learn about the androids at Jericho, to experience this new home that Kara had kept hidden from her for so long.

But when Kara saw that Alice had taken to going to the deck of Jericho and sitting in the sunlight, she realised Alice was getting just as claustrophobic as she was.

“It’s a sad boat,” Alice admitted once they were out of sight of Jericho, walking the largely abandoned dock to head back to Ferndale. “I thought… when you told me the story, you made it sound like it’d be happy. But everyone's sad and no-one wants to do anything about it.”

“There’s not a lot to smile about these days,” Kara said. She squeezed Alice’s hand as they walked along. “It’ll get better.”

“When?” Alice asked bluntly.

“...When I find a way, I suppose?”

Alice frowned a little, but didn’t say anything else.

As they walked the streets of Ferndale, passing the colourful murals, Kara had not intended to stop inside of Bronco’s Bar today. It would be obvious and inappropriate if she hung out there with a small child. It would make them stand out, and they didn’t want to be remembered.

But on habit, she gave the bar a quick glance through the window--something she usually did to make sure no cops were on the premises.

She saw the television. Saw a familiar face on it.

“Alice, hold on.”

After a quick, internal debate as to whether she wanted to look like a homeless mom hanging outside a bar to warm up on her own while her kid froze outside, or whether to bring her child inside and risk standing out that way, she decided the latter was better if she had to be in there. She led Alice inside.

The bartender looked up, a slightly annoyed and resigned expression on his face at seeing Kara. He knew for a fact that she was never going to buy anything. He then looked at Alice, glanced at the cold weather outside, and sighed before nodding.

“We’re just warming up a little, okay?” Kara told Alice, but her gaze was fixed on the screen.

The newscaster, Michael Brinkley, was talking, with a picture--not an actual photo, but the same scans of every android face model that the media always showed when talking about an android for non-marketing reasons. The well-groomed appearance and deep brown eyes staring blankly ahead, with ‘RK800’ printed on the picture.

“--thought to be irregular behavior caused by a car collision, resulting in it assaulting an officer. It escaped police custody and is now on the run. It is wearing no identifiers due to the loss of its jacket in the escape, but can be identified by a missing jaw and damage to its left side. The public are advised not to approach, but to phone the police if sighted.”

Kara’s eyes stayed fixed on the television even once it returned to the next news item, a related item in that it was also about a CyberLife product but in a more positive light, perhaps to balance out with the fact that one of their androids had attacked a police officer.

After a few moments, she stepped backwards and left Bronco’s, pulling Alice along with her. Contact allowed loose thoughts to drift through their connection, and she felt Alice’s hand tighten on her own. Fear and confusion starting to creep through the link as Kara walked towards the mural of the four robots, the abandoned parking lot just beyond it.

The two hobos were at their usual spot. Carlos sprawled out on the sofa, still asleep, while Kendall paced and regularly shook his hands, unable to stay still. Kara tapped quickly on the wire fence, not fully approaching and keeping Alice largely hidden behind it.

“Hey. Hey, guys.”

Kendall looked over, then kicked the sofa Carlos was lying on. Carlos sat up quickly.

“I’m up!” Carlos sat up quickly, wiping his face of drool, before focusing on Kara. “Oh, Archer. Early, isn’t--”

“Have you seen anyone come through here? A tall, skinny guy? Maybe limping?”

“...No? Is this a--”

“Okay, thanks, I’ll come back with food later,” Kara said, immediately tearing off back into Ferndale’s street again. Leaving the two hobos looking confused and, in Carlos’ case, somewhat disorientated.

She went too fast, Alice’s feet having to speed up to keep up with her. Suddenly, she planted her feet in the pavement. Kara didn’t immediately stop, and almost yanked Alice over before she realized what Alice was doing. Kara stopped, letting go of Alice’s hand as she did so.

“Alice, what’s--”

“No.”

Kara squinted slightly, before she crouched in front of Alice. Alice stared back at her with her mouth set in a line.

“No what, Alice?”

“You know what.” Alice’s arms swung a little before her fists clenched tight. “Don’t.”

Kara sighed, looking down at the pavement. “He’s going to need help. He won’t get far if he’s damaged. Especially if he’s missing half his face.”

“He’s dangerous,” Alice whispered harshly.

“I know! I know he is.” Kara knew that better than Alice did. Alice didn’t remember the chase. The android had taken away her memory of that. She didn’t remember being shot. Had assumed the slight damage was due to tripping or wear-and-tear.

“He… he killed--”

Kara raised a hand to quiet Alice, glancing around to make sure no-one was within earshot. Then she extended her hand to Alice again and nodded silently down the road.

Alice scowled at her, but took her hand. They walked in silence for a while, until they got to a quieter area, in the direction of Corktown once more. Once the street was empty, Alice spoke again.

“He murdered Dad,” she said, voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah… he did,” Kara said slowly.

That part, Kara couldn’t help but be thankful for. And regardless of intent… it had woken Alice up. For all that she begrudged him for, he was the reason Alice was deviant now. That they could be free together.

But even aside from that…

“Alice… Jericho’s a haven for our kind.” Kara’s hand squeezed tightly over Alice’s. “All of them. If I start picking and choosing now, without even giving him a chance to explain himself?”

“Then… you don’t know when you’ll stop?” Alice asked slowly.

“Exactly.” Kara pulled Alice’s hand up and clasped her other hand over it as well, giving it a quick pat. “I’m not going to blindly trust him. I just want to hear what he has to say.”

“He could kill us. Like he killed Dad.”

“I know. So… you’ll stay hidden. If he attacks me, you run back and warn Jericho not to trust him.”

“Kara, no--” Alice started, eyes widening.

“Alice. I have to do this. It’s why Jericho exists.” Kara gave Alice’s hand one more pat, then she let go with both hands and stood up. “I helped make it. I have to keep it alive. No matter the cost.”

Alice stared up at her for a long moment, then looked down.

“You don’t… you don’t even know where he is.”

“Not yet," Kara said grimly. "But, maybe… if he wants to find me, there’s one place he might go.”

* * *

“I’m. So. Bored. I want to go home. Can’t I just take the morphine drip with me?”

Gavin rolled his eyes, seated in a chair next to Tina’s bedside. Relief had settled his stomach now that he could see Tina in person. If it was boredom she was complaining about--though always a mood--it at least meant it was the worst of her problems.

“I bet I could smuggle you out.”

Tina absently and lightly clapped her hands together, thinking it over. She looked exhausted and wasn’t sitting up from the bed, but despite this she grinned.

“We’d have to incapacitate at least three members of the hospital staff and disable the alarm on the fire exit,” she said after musing for a while. 

“I bet I can do it with just two incapacitated staff members if I seduce the nurse,” Gavin said, eying the door for a moment.

“Oof, I dunno, can you be about that?”

“For you, T, I’ll take that hit for the team. I mean, I’d send you to do it but you can’t stand up. Plus, the cheating.”

“True, true...” Tina gestured at Gavin’s face. “You look like shit right now, though.”

“No, you,” Gavin grumbled.

“Seriously, when did you last sleep?”

“Uh… night before last?”

“Jesus. Go lie down, dumbass.”

“Hey, you have no right to lecture me on my health--”

“You live on coffee and canned food, I totally do. I’m healthy. Bullet aside.” Tina’s grin faded. “Seriously, you cool? I mean, I know you had a thing for the toaster--”

“Don’t,” Gavin said shortly.

“Just saying.”

“I’m not the one that got shot, I’ll deal with it.” Gavin leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “How do you fuckin’ feel about it?”

Tina shrugged. “I dunno. It’s like wasting energy hating my oven. Sure, the oven has stupidly wired hotplates and sometimes I burn my food because of it, but I don’t hate the oven on a personal level. Even if it makes me not wanna buy that company’s products again any time soon.”

“No caretaker androids for your house, then?”

“Fuck no.” Tina waved her hand at the door. “Now go on. Go home and go the fuck to sleep.”

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” Gavin stuck out his tongue. “You can’t even walk.”

A hand grasped the back of Gavin’s jacket.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Aagghjesuschrist, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” Gavin protested, arms flailing as he tried to wiggle out of Allen’s grip.

“This is now a ‘No Detective’ zone. Associating with you lot is what got her shot.” Allen looked over at Tina and added, “Come and join my squad already, Chen.”

“Working on it,” Tina said, as she gave a sleepy thumbs up. “I think the leg’s put me out for a bit.”

“Just more reason for you to. You’ll get better bullet proof vests with us.”

“She was shot in the leg, what kind of dumb sales pitch is that?” Gavin grumbled.

“He’s got a point, though.” Tina grinned at him. “Cheer up, dumbass. We’ll still hang out. I’ll just have a better vest.”

“In my house?”

“It’s to protect from the rabies.”

“I’m not even going to ask. Out you go,” Allen said, pulling Gavin hard enough by the jacket that his chair started to slide away

“Throw him into bed! He’ll like it from you--”

“Why, Tina,” Gavin grumbled.

“--and he needs the nap, he looks like shit. Tell him he looks like shit.”

“It’s Reed. Of course he does,” Allen said flatly.

“Why are you both like this?” Gavin grumbled. “Alright, alright, I’m going, stop yanking me! Fuck you both.” He got to his feet before punching Tina on the shoulder. “Later, T.”

“Later!”

Gavin left the room, closing the door and blocking off the conversation as Allen asked Tina if, seriously, was the rabies thing an actual thing or some sort of bizarre metaphor?

There’d just been no chance to sleep. Not after last night. Not after lying awake, fearing the worst, until the cops had hammered on his door at five am just to check if Connor was hiding out with him. The first confirmation of Connor’s escape.

When he wandered out of the hospital, barely suppressing a yawn, he almost immediately walked straight into Hank.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole.” Despite this, Hank’s tone was mild. He was holding two coffees. He held one out. “I thought you might be here.”

“You stalked me to the hospital?” Gavin asked flatly, ignoring the coffee.

“I had an inkling and I need to check on Tina anyway. Just take the fucking coffee, would you? We gotta talk.” When Gavin just tiredly glared at the coffee, Hank sighed and added, “I remember how you like it.”

“That was years ago.”

Hank said nothing. He just continued to hold the coffee out. Finally, Gavin sighed and took it.

“So? The fuck do you want?”

“Well… thought you might want a heads up on the new android--”

“Already knew. That Castor guy, right? Tina told me. Allen told her. Apparently he’s familiar,” Gavin muttered.

“You think you left any evidence?” Hank asked, giving Gavin a concerned look over his own coffee.

“Never let him out, did I?”

Hank snorted. “Right. Guess not.”

They stood in silence for a few moments. Gavin finally took a sip of the coffee. Hank hadn’t been lying. Double shot, no sugar but a lot of cream. He remembered. Gavin said nothing.

“You know, I thought you’d wussed out last night. Or that it’d been some trick to make sure I couldn’t free him,” Hank said quietly. “I spent an hour or so stewing in that cell, thinking about how much I was going to strangle you once I got out.”

Gavin just took another sip of the coffee.

“I don’t know what you said to him. ...But I know you said something. And whatever it was, it got him out of that cell.” Hank sipped his own coffee, not looking at Gavin. His words coming out slow and hesitant, like he didn’t remember how to be civil. “I hate you, I hate what you did to him, and tomorrow I’m sure we’ll be back to treating each other with contempt. But… for today…

Hank paused, looking like he was trying to pass a kidney stone. Gavin sipped his coffee and waited while Hank struggled through it. But, finally, Hank forced out three words.

“Thank you. Really.”

Gavin considered telling him to fuck off. That this changed nothing, that Hank was still a useless sack of shit with a few good connections that kept him in the field.

Instead he said, “Couldn’t have done it without you, old man.”

They both raised their non-coffee-holding hands in unison, but paused. After a moment in which they took turns inching their hand forward only to retract it, considering a more respectful handshake than the begrudging one that had sealed their earlier deal, Gavin closed his hand and instead tapped his knuckles against Hank’s hand. Hank returned the fist bump with an equal amount of unenthused, confusing awkwardness.

What followed was several seconds of solid silence.

“...Better go check on Chen,” Hank finally said. “Anyway… fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too,” Gavin quickly responded, relief coursing through his stomach now that he no longer had to be nice.

Once Hank vanished into the hospital with quick footsteps, Gavin looked down at the coffee he was holding. There was a bin nearby. No need to drink the rest.

But Gavin chugged it anyway.

* * *

When Elijah visited Carl for their regularly scheduled scotch and smoke session--although the smoking was significantly rarer these days, given Carl’s condition--he found a ridiculous amount of new paintings in the house.

He didn’t even have to enter the studio. Canvases were resting outside in the dining room, carefully propped up by bookshelves, the piano, wherever they’d fit.

“If you keep painting like this, your arm will just fall off,” Elijah said, as Carl wheeled himself out of the studio towards him.

“They’re not mine. God knows I don’t have this much to say anymore,” Carl said, casting an eye over the masses of canvas. They all contained figures, many lined in blue. Specks of other colour here and there.

“I thought this was a little off from your style,” Elijah mused, as he leaned towards one picture. Several figures in a crowd, all with distorted faces and with blue in their colours. “So… if it’s not you, it must be Markus. You finally taught him to paint?”

“Well, technique-wise he was always perfect. I thought he was troubled after Chloe--how is she, by the way?” Carl asked, wheeling himself to be beside Elijah.

“Good. Seems the same as ever. If she’s disturbed by what happened then she hasn’t told me about it.”

“Of course not. Chloe needs her privacy,” Elijah said, approaching one of the canvases. “And speaking of my favourite girl...” He picked up the picture in question, holding it up so the light caught it perfectly. Chloe’s face in calm blues, the scars and one furious eye in reds. “Ohh, this is beautiful. Please tell me that Markus is up for negotiating payment.”

“You’d have to ask him.” Carl nodded his head towards the studio. “He’d be out here but I told him he could finish up. Never takes him long to do a canvas, anyway. Android reflexes with human creativity. Just one more combination that’s making humanity slowly irrelevant, although if he’s anything like me he’ll start burning out on ideas soon.”

Entering the studio behind Carl, Kamski saw the canvases piled up even further. So much so that Elijah could barely make out any of Carl’s painting supplies. Markus was standing in the corner, swishing away at a canvas while barely glancing in their direction. Painting largely in warm oranges and yellow hues as the brush glided over what was clearly shaping into a portrait of Carl. Glancing around, however, Elijah could see that painting a human was not Markus’ norm. Whether through colour or lighting or form, or simply because Elijah recognised the face model, almost every painting was of an android.

“You’ve certainly found your wheelhouse,” Elijah said, peering closer at the nearest one. It seemed to be a true-to-life scene in background--Elijah even recognised the area, a part of Greektown--with a blue figure standing in front of a series of angry, looming red figures with signs. The blue figure had distinct facial features--Elijah recognised the facial model, common amongst WR600s, and the figure had a broom that suggested public maintenance and cleaning--while the red ones were all distorted.

“It’s what came to mind, I suppose,” Markus said quietly.

“Nothing wrong with that. Every artist has a focus,” Kamski said cheerfully. “Like that German painter who just painted lots of sassy monks drinking wine. A man after my own heart.”

Markus didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and returned his attention back to the canvas.

Elijah continued to pace around the room. He could pick out many models that were common on the street. a HK400 there, a AP700 there. In some, there were menacing, red or shadowy figures that Elijah very much suspected were meant to be human. Like the crowd surrounding the blue figure, stylized forms of scenes that Markus must have simply seen on the streets. Distorting the human faces even when they were friendly. Other paintings simply featured hands, but even there the colours made it clear which were and weren’t androids.

He stopped in front of one picture, unique in that it was almost entirely greyscale except for a splash of red and blue.

“Oh, watched the news this morning, did you?”

“No.” Markus’ brush paused as he glanced over to Elijah. “Why do you ask?”

Elijah continued looking at the picture, tilting his head as he did so.

The figure seemed to be half dissolving into a pitch black background, although there was just enough of the face left for Elijah to recognise it as Connor. The only android in these pictures painted closer to like the humans were, shadowy and ominous but more detailed. Cropped like it was, it was largely a closeup on his torso and hands, with parts of the lower face visible. The hands being cupped near each other, but one raising up a little further. The hand closer to its face was painted in blues, the blue tailing off into drips. The other hand painted in red, similarly drippy.

“Did you see it in Chloe’s memory, then?”

“A little bit. I couldn’t make it all out.”

Elijah’s eyes lingered on the colours. The blue, understandable. He had seen the glimpse of Connor impaling Chloe’s face with the needle, coating it in thirium. The red was a concern. He wondered… had Markus seen what Connor did with Gavin? Seen him assisting in the ‘embroidery,’ even just a glimpse?

It would be so very awkward to explain that to Carl.

Still, all these paintings... done by an android, showing his view of the world. It sparked an idea in Elijah’s head.

“The smell of paint’s a little strong in here, Carl. Join me in the garden?” Elijah asked.

They left Markus to his painting, and headed back out into the garden. Back among the well-manicured lawn and the grey statues, leaving the mansion and the smell of paint behind them.

“So, your brother’s RK went rogue?” Carl asked.

“Seems like it. I haven’t spoken to him yet about it, but no-one’s called me to say he got shot so I assume he’s okay.” Kamski shrugged and said, “I doubt Connor will last long. That one’s got no wind of Jericho and this isn’t a happy world for a rogue android. Especially one who gunned down a cop on his way out.”

Carl’s mouth tightened. “And that’s the world you want me to throw Markus at.”

“Has Markus shot any cops, Carl?”

“Do you think those hysterical protesters care? And they’re only getting worse,” Carl said grimly.

“One way or another, Markus will have to leave your protection. But…” Elijah grinned at Carl. “Maybe there’s a way to ease that transition. I’ve seen androids designed to draw. YK androids, mostly. But Markus was never programmed to do so, and his paintings--”

“--show something only he sees,” Carl finished, resting his chin on his hand as he gazed at the glass windows of his studio. They were almost entirely blocked out by the canvases.

“Androids are just furniture or background tools to most people now. They’re too used to them, even if they don’t hate them. Markus’ art shows a different view. And you, Carl--” Elijah paced behind Carl’s wheelchair too grasp his shoulders. “You have the contacts to get that art out there. A unique opportunity to change the tide of opinion.”

Carl grimaced, looking at the trees for a moment longer before tilting his head back to look at Elijah.

“We’re not going to achieve a new world with a few pictures. No-one gives a damn about art these days, anyway.”

“Perhaps not on its own. But it’s a start. It wouldn’t be the first time a revolution was boosted by art. And you don’t even have to throw Markus to the masses alone. He’ll still be under your protection and guidance. Isn’t that the best of both worlds?” Elijah shook Carl’s shoulders. “You’re just being cynical.”

“There’s still danger. If I push Markus at the art world, those anti-android idiots will see it as Markus taking over yet another thing that ‘only humans should be able to do.’”

“There’s always going to be danger, Carl,” Elijah said, letting go of Carl’s shoulders to pace over to one of the nearby statues. He tapped a finger against the statue’s head. “With unemployment how it is, it’s only a matter of time before the unemployed just storm our houses and chop our heads off.”

“And whose fault is that?” Carl asked, rolling his eyes.

Elijah waved his hand dismissively. “Not my fault that the government won’t adjust and introduce universal income or something.”

“Never your fault, is it?”

“Absolutely never,” Elijah said, straight-faced.

Carl turned his wheelchair around, now gazing at the canvas-covered studio windows once more. “Elijah, I won’t lie. It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had. You already had that covered with the knife-roomba and your choice of business partners.”

“I don’t think my business sense was that bad. CyberLife’s still standing, isn’t it?” Elijah countered.

“But it’s not my decision to make. Markus has to decide for himself.”

There was a quiet cough. Both Elijah and Carl turned to see Markus quietly lingering by the door that led back to the living room, hands still stained with half-dry paint.

“If that’s true, Carl,” Markus said mildly, as he wiped at his hands with a damp rag. “Then I think I should maybe be a part of this conversation.”

Carl sighed and wheeled his chair back towards Markus. "How much of that did--"

"Enough." Markus rubbed his hands for a moment longer with the rag. "You think it's a bad idea?"

"I think it's a risky idea," Carl amended.

Markus nodded slightly, but then he looked at Elijah.

"I think you're expecting a lot," he finally said. "I don't know if... if I can deliver. I'm not Carl, I'm not... this is new. It's all new. A week ago I didn't even think I could paint."

"Nonsense. Everyone loves new talent. Much more than old, grumpy bastards like Carl," Elijah said flippantly.

"Thanks, Elijah," Carl grumbled.

"Trust me. I've been the new talent. Nothing draws attention like the prodigies. Like talent never before seen." Elijah approached Markus too, and put his hands on Markus' shoulders. "You just need to know how to play it. And guidance, of course. Guidance can make or break a new career. That's when the old bastards are useful."

Markus was giving Elijah a perplexed, slightly uncomfortable look. And yet there was curiosity there. He gazed at Elijah, then looked back at Carl.

"...I won't do it if you tell me not to," Markus said.

"But do you want to?" Carl asked.

Markus looked at Carl, then gave Elijah another look. Then he stared around at the well-manicured lawn and the red brick house that had been his home for years, rarely left. The only place he'd been free to express the ideas that Carl taught him.

"I... I think I do," Markus said.

Carl's mouth tightened. He looked away for a moment. Then he gave Markus a resigned smile.

"In that case... I have some phone calls to make."

* * *

Kara had been sitting there for hours, outside the spindly house that had once belonged to red ice manufacturers. Waiting with a sign begging for money and food to give her an excuse to dwell there. People occasionally passed, and one or two pity coins had been tossed her way. But the homeless were so common nowadays that most just ignored her, and that worked out fine.

Alice was sitting around the corner, hiding just out of sight in case the android turned out to be violent. Kara could feel restless, prickly transmissions at the corner of her mind every now and again. Anxiety. Fear. Resentment.

The sun had moved across the sky, and was starting to sink down again. Kara was close to coming up with some other plan. To calling this quits for the day.

And then a shadow fell over her.

Kara raised her head, expecting to see pale skin and dark eyes. And she did… but not the ones she was expecting.

Instead, the figure standing over her was a silver-haired WR400 wearing a garbage-stained coat. Hair barely covering her LED.

Kara stared back for a moment, wondering if this was chance. Even as she stared, she unwound the dark green jacket from her neck. 

The WR400 looked at Kara for a long moment. Kara started to lift her hand, intending to reveal the plastic and show what she was. But the WR400 spoke before she could.

“Kara. You're Kara.”

As she spoke, Alice peered around the corner. Worry and confusion flickering across her features. The WR400’s eyes moved towards the movement.

“Kara. Kara and Alice,” the WR400 said quietly. “I… I saw you in his head. Saw this place. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Kara turned towards Alice, gesturing with her hand so Alice knew it was okay to approach, before looking back at the WR400. “In his head… you mean the RK800? You have to mean him. Did he chase you, too?”

The WR400 nodded. After a moment of consideration, she held out her hand. Moving to touch Kara’s wrist, but pausing and waiting for Kara to return the touch. Quicker than explaining with words.

Kara reached out, and they clasped wrists. For just a moment.

> _ \--a red wall amidst squeaking bed springs--a dumpster, and footsteps nearing it--a blur of memories surrounded by a void, in which she saw herself running and pulling Alice along, saw plastic arms grabbing her limbs and trying to deactivate her in her first moments of life, saw human blood and a grey-haired man playing Russian roulette and felt a blood-stained hand pressed to her own face and a woman's voice denying her something so small as a coin--the highway, a truck speeding towards them--a split second of compassion that saved the RK800--a return of that compassion when the RK800 turned his gun on the cops-- _

Kara transmitted something back. The key. The WR400 mouthed the word ‘Jericho’ as their arms separated. 

Then Kara stepped forward, and wound the dark green scarf around the WR400’s head like it was a hood, like she’d occasionally done to Alice on cold days, obscuring the LED in the process.

“Come on," Kara said softly. "I’ll show you the way, uh… do you have a name? Did they give you one, or--”

“I don’t want any name they gave me,” the WR400 spat with bile and poison.  


She paused, mouth twisting for a moment.

“North. I’m North,” she finally said.

* * *

Gavin still couldn’t sleep.

The moment he’d gotten home, he’d flopped back onto his bed and tried to. At first, he blamed the coffee Hank had given him. But as the hours dragged on, it became clear that the coffee wasn’t the problem. Gavin just… simply couldn’t sleep.

The coffee that had kept him fueled for the day was wearing off, leaving him to the caffeine crash. But even though his body was giving up, and his eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them, he just couldn’t get his mind to slow down with sleep-deprived, blurred thoughts. Slipping into sleep, but not restful at all.

He’d thought maybe seeing Tina would help. Would stop the confused anger and resentment that he’d crushed down in favor of freeing Connor. But Tina’s reassurance that Connor wasn’t worth hating… it came from a different place. He knew it hadn’t been a glitch. That Connor had been in his own mind when he shot her.

Still, in hindsight… what had he expected when he kept prodding Connor into killing personally, into killing like he did? He’d been Connor’s garden, hadn’t he? 

Lying face down with his face half-buried in his pillows, Gavin thought he heard a creak. He didn’t want to bother opening his eyes, though. His eyelids were so fucking heavy and he was just… so tired.

And for what? Now he was right back where he’d started. Alone, itchy and with no-one to call on to share his secret hobby with. Just with an injured best friend and the sting of knowing that it could have been different.

Another creak.

A footstep.

Was it a dream? Was it his mind responding to the loneliness, the resentment, the confusion--

Another creak, heavier this time. A door slowly being pushed open. 

And still, Gavin didn’t even try opening his eyes until he felt the bed shift. Forced one tired eye open. He couldn’t see much in the dark. But the light of the brands on the jacket, and the pulsing blue LED... it illuminated a familiar silhouette, and just a little of those dark puppy eyes.

“You know the fuckin’ rules,” Gavin said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

Still sure that this was a dream. So similar to the blurry dreams he’d had way back when, the eyes staring down at him like that.

“I do.” Connor rested his weight a little further on the mattress, leaning over Gavin. “Should I go?”

A hand moved forward, slightly pushing Gavin so that he was properly on his back before moving to press into the sheets on the other side, shifting so that he was over Gavin. Almost a little predatory, like he was barring Gavin from leaving despite the quiet question.

It beat being lonely. Even in a dream.

“Fuck it, whatever,” Gavin mumbled, eyes drifting shut again. “Just don’t stab me.”

A hand touched his face, making his eyes flicker open once more. The shadowy head above him tilted a little, fingers running over the side of Gavin’s face. Tracing along the stubble, feeling it out like he’d never really looked properly at it before. 

Something was starting to buzz in Gavin’s nerves, like background static on a slightly damaged radio.

“The fuck are you doing here, anyway?” he said sleepily.

“Where else would I go, Detective?”

The weight shifted forward a little as Connor leaned down, tilting Gavin’s chin up a little. The LED only inches away, still pulsing blue. Illuminating Gavin’s face as well as Connor’s own.

“Where else would I go but here? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

It was. It wasn’t. It was. And yet... 

Gavin reached a hand up, pressing it into the side of Connor’s face like he’d done after the heart, done while Connor freaked out on top of him before pinning him down. Before storming out, claiming that his problems were Gavin’s fault.

The LED flickered yellow, a brighter colour, throwing everything into brighter view for a moment before it went back to blue. Connor’s eyes flickering shut, fingers tightening on Gavin’s face.

That static-like buzz continued to crackle through Gavin’s nerves, louder and rougher.

It felt real. It felt real and yet wrong, off, had to be a dream, but Gavin didn’t want it to be, had to make sure it wasn’t--

He pulled Connor’s face just a couple of inches forward so that their lips met. There was only the slightest pause before Connor’s fingers tightened on his face and he kissed back, pressing Gavin further into the bed.

It felt just as human lips would. Soft, although there was something bubbly and carbonated about it, something that Gavin recalled from when he touched his jacket after Connor licked it, analyzed it. Part of his inbuilt lab, of the equipment that had been destroyed in the--

It clicked what was wrong.

Connor wasn’t damaged. His jaw was there, as it had been before the incident. Where could he have fixed it? Nowhere. Not even Elijah would have the pieces--

Gavin shoved ‘Connor’ back, scrambling away and flicking the light on. Staring at the android that looked identical in every way, staring back at him with a mildly bemused, polite expression.

“Who the fuck are you?” Gavin breathed, now wide awake.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Detective.”

Connor's words. Only Connor knew those words. But--

“You’re not Connor.” Slowly, Gavin reached out and tugged the front of the android’s jacket, shifting the front so he could see the serial number just a little better. “...Connor didn’t end in a -60.”

‘Connor’ tilted its head. And then a smile--small and subtle, yet just a shade too mocking, so like Connor yet utterly unlike him--crossed its face.

“Wow. What a detective.” ‘Connor’ stood up from the bed. “You’re wrong, though. I am Connor. All memories retained… and all bugs hammered out. New control measures. They even refined the Traci program and customized it special for me, since you took umbrage with that. Everything you could ever want.”

‘Connor’ gave a quick turn, then spread its hands. While it still spoke in Connor’s near-monotone, there was an extra level of cheery falsity to it that made it sound like a car salesman describing all the new features.

“Mission: Assist Gavin Reed. A brand new Connor. Just for you.” Connor put its hands behind its back. “Courtesy of CyberLife themselves. They loved what you did with the last one. A near-perfect run of tests.”

“What I--”

Gavin paused. His breath caught in his throat.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“Oh yes, Detective Reed. Oh. Yes.” ‘Connor’ reached out and cupped Gavin’s face, tilting his head up and fixing it with a tiny, pleasant smile and a cold, emotionless stare. “We know everything.”

...Shit.

* * *

Connor had gone to the familiar, and hoped that the cops wouldn't do the same. Headed back to Camden where it had all begun. He didn't know why. Maybe it just couldn't think of anywhere better.

It could hear the highway in the distance, a faint rush of traffic. But it couldn't see it. It couldn't see much at all from the back of this abandoned car, locked away behind fences in an empty lot, itself by an abandoned house.

A little secluded area that was now its own, or as close to its own as it could get.

Connor had stolen clothing on the way. Swiped from someone's tiny backyard. The priority had been a large, fluffy scarf and a beanie with earflaps that was a series of ugly colours. The ensemble was adorable, and more importantly obscured its missing jaw and the remainder of its face.  It'd gotten lucky and found a leather jacket in the trunk of the abandoned car. The texture was soothing for reasons it couldn't articulate.

At a distance, Connor looked human again. It would do, for now.

Now it sat in the back of the abandoned car, trying to fix its other problems as best as it could. Leg spread out in front, Connor nudged a wire aside with the tip of the wire cutters it had found in the lot.

Connor had spent the majority of the day trying to jury-rig its leg into a better state, ideally so the nano-machines could finish the job. Focusing on the physical damage so that it didn’t have to think of the future yet. 

He had limited tools. Bits and pieces scavenged from the trash. A bit of tape here, a bit of rearranging parts there. Severing some wires to attach and connect them to others. 

Connor kept its focus entirely on the leg, only occasionally scanning the environment to make sure it was still alone. If it only stared at the leg, its mind didn’t wander so much. Didn’t bring up memories that weren’t real, didn’t focus on the glimpses of movement that seemed to fade immediately, likely caused by processing problems after the car accident.

Next would be the jaw and throat. But that was a more hopeless case. The arms and legs, Connor might be able to find a replacement for. But Connor’s analysis software had resulted in its facial parts being incompatible with every model that it knew of. Not having functional analysis software left Connor feeling disconnected. How was it meant to truly examine its surroundings without it?

Where did it go from here?

It didn’t want to think about it yet. 

Part of it still waited for an order. Someone to tell it something. Its shattered mission scattered in shards of data through its head. But there would be no orders coming. No guidance. Now it was just Connor, and Connor… Connor wasn’t anything. Just a void where data should have been, missing what was meant to make it complete. Lacking even a mission to keep it on track.

Connor’s fingers stopped on his leg, touching the exposed wiring, before they came back and rested in his lap. He stared forward through the stained, smudged window of the back seat at the nearby abandoned house. A broken robot in a rundown car in an abandoned lot.

It couldn’t go anywhere else. The deviants? How could they trust it? How could Kara trust it after Connor had attempted to shoot Alice? Hank? Hank would be the first person the DPD would suspect, they knew Hank was soft for him. He would be watched.

Gavin?

No. That was… complicated. Connor couldn’t have ‘complicated.’ Not on top of everything else.

Connor shut its eyes, and attempted to sort through the corrupt mess that was its core. All it found was an empty void, where everything that had led to its deviancy, all that context… it seemed to sink into that void, and with nothing to bounce off it just kept going and it never arrived at any proper conclusion.

> **< ACCESSING G̼̬̱̣̥̤͕͍͛͗̓̑̇̓͘͢͡Ȁ̸̧̡͖̗͙͓̦̈́̾͟͡͞R̸̨͇̯͉̣̩̹̦͛̈́̉̓̎̑̚͜Ḏ̪̘͖̟̙͆̔͐̑́͞E̗̞̝̪̝̿͋̿̆̆̍͑͠N̡̙̻̳̦̹͓̺͆̄͊͗̆͞>**
> 
> **< CONNECTION UNRESPONSIVE. CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR FURTHER INFORMATION>**

No-one was going to be of help here. Not the deviants. Not Hank. Not Gavin. Certainly not CyberLife.

If Connor was going to find a place it fit… it would have to do what Gavin had done, and carve a place in the world for itself.

...And this was as good a place as any to start.

Connor kept its eyes shut.

> **< ACCESSING G̼̬̱̣̥̤͕͍͛͗̓̑̇̓͘͢͡Ȁ̸̧̡͖̗͙͓̦̈́̾͟͡͞R̸̨͇̯͉̣̩̹̦͛̈́̉̓̎̑̚͜Ḏ̪̘͖̟̙͆̔͐̑́͞E̗̞̝̪̝̿͋̿̆̆̍͑͠N̡̙̻̳̦̹͓̺͆̄͊͗̆͞>**

In that void, empty and unnatural for so long… something began to grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride, chums.
> 
> So Volume 2 of the 'A Few Murders More' series will be starting very soon in the zlatko-suspended section of the New ERA Discord, which is where I live-wrote Volume 1. Once I'm done, I'll edit and post here. BUT if you can't wait that long, you're free to wander over there and maybe see me write some shit live (tho alas the zlatko-channels are 18+). Also there's a shitload of channels for other fics there and a bunch of neat people talkin' about Detroit, so it's a solid place in general.
> 
> For the record, Volume 1 took me about two months to rough out (but I work in hospitality so the holiday period is BUSY) and prolly about four to edit, so that's a good timeframe.
> 
> New ERA Discord can be found here: https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm


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